



« » ^ 








'"^^.J" 









5> • %6^ 4 

















'^^ 










"••- V '".A*^ ..".♦. '"**. "" .0* 















■*- .^' - 






*.. '.^*^' ^•«- 



.*-*°- 



>."-n». 









V .•.•»- 






•.•>*'\ '^%R'' *^''^%. '-J 



o > 






%!> *'^ 




^"-^^^ 



.. n-^ '-^^ N^^ ^^^"^ *••'• ^° 




* ^^ ^. 










.* ^0 














.• ^^"-H. -: 



• A 




^^-n^ 



<^ A^ ^ ' • . • V 









v^ .: 




I 



cLCje 




^oS^J^Oj^ 








^^^^s-.cai^s:e hehmita&e. 



^- Published tvMacketizie audDeit. 




B HT KI^ S' IS'IaiU S © J^IK IT M, jDUMipJ^^ S « 



^nt^raved /i'>r^l^/r//cn;i/,d-^^/i^s£d//iffn 



THE 

PROSE WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS; 



CONTAINING HIS 



LETTERS AND CORRESPONDENCE, 

LITERARY AND CRITICAL; 



AKO 



AMATORY EPISTLES, 



INCLUDING 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA, 



EMBELLISHED WITH 
NINE BEAUTIFUL AND HIGHLY FINISHED ENGRAVINGS, 



Newcastle upon Tyne : 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY MACKENZIE AND DENT, 



1819. 



\ '^ \ 



MR. HUTCHESON. 
22 H '05 



^.^^ 

.H-^ 



CONTENTS. 



LETTERS. 

No. Page. 

1 To a Female Friend, 1780 . - - l 

2 & 3 To the same ... - 3—5 

4 To the same. — On her Rejection of his Suit - - 7 

5 To his Father, when the Author was a Flax-dresser - 9 
(> To Mr. John Murdoch, the Author's former Teacher, giving 

an Account of his present Studies and Temper of Mind, 
Jan. 15, 1783 * - - - II 

7 Extracts from Manuscripts. — ^^Obserrations on various Subjects 14 

8 To Mr. Aiken. — Written under Distress of Mind ^ 22 

9 To Mrs. Duniop.— Thanks for her Notice — Praise of her An- 

cetJtor, Sir William Wallace - - - 26 

10 To Mrs. Stewart, inclosing a Poem on Miss A - 27 

11 Dr. Blacklock to the Rev. G. Laurie. — Encouraging the 

Bard to visit Edinburgh, and print a new Edition of his 
Poems - - - - - 29 

12 From Sir John Whitefoord - - - 31 

13 From — , Dec. 22, 1786.— Advice 10 the Bard, how 

to conduct himselfin Edinburgh - - 32 

14 To Mr. Chalmers. — Praise of Miss Burnet, of Monboddo 33 

15 To the Earl of Eglinton. — Thanks for his Patronage - 34 

16 To Mrs. Duniop, Jan. 15, 1787. — Account of his Situation 

in Edinburgh - - - - 35 

17 To Dr. Moore. — Grateful Acknowledgments of hisNotice of 

Burns, iu Letters to Mrs. Duniop - - 38 

18 To Dr. Moore. — In answer to the* foregoing, and inclosing a 

Sonnei on the Bard, by Miss Williams - - 39 

19 To Dr. Moore, Feb. 15, 1787.— In Reply - - 41 

20 From Dr. Moore, Feb. 28, 17»7- — Sends the Bnrd a Present 

of his * View of Society & Manners,' &c. - - 43 

21 To the Earl of Glencairn, 178?. — Grateful Acknowledgment 

of Kindness - - - - 44 

22 To the Earl of Buchan. — Reply to a Letter of Advice ► 40 

23 Extract, concerning the Monument erected for Ferguson by 

our Poet - - - - _ 47 

24 To , accompanying the foregoing - - 49 

25 Extract, from . Good Advice - - 50 

26 To Mrs. Duniop, March 22, 1787- — Respecting his Prospects 

on leaving Edinburgh - - - 52 

27 To the same, April 15, 1787.— -On the same Subject - 55 



iv CONTENTS. 

No. Page. 

28 To Dr. Moore, April 23, 1787. — On the same Subject - 56 

29 Extract, to Mrs. Danlop. — Reply to Criticisms - 5? 

30 Extracts from the Author's MS. Book, recording whatever 

seemed to him worthy of Observation - - 58 

31 To the Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair, May 3, 1787.— Written on 

leaving Edinburgh — ^Thanks for his Kindness - 64 

32 From Dr. Blair, May 4. — In Reply to the preceding - 6b 
38 From Dr. Moore. — Criticism and good Advice - 67 

34 From Mr. John Hutchinson, June 14. — Account of the Re- 

ception of our Bard's Poems in Jamaica - - 70 

35 To Mr. Ainslie. — Description of his Tour [n the Highlands 72 

36 To Dr. Moore, Aug. 2, 1787. — Giving a detailed Account of 

the Author's Life - - - - 72 

37 To Mr. Walker. — Inclosing the humble Petition of Bruar 

Water to the Duke of Athole - - - 74 

38 To Mr. GilbertBurns, Sep. 17. — Accountof hisTour through 

the Highlands - - - .75 

89 From Mr. W . In Reply to No. 37 - - 77 

40 From Mr. John Murdoch, in London, Oct. 28, 1787 — In 

Answer to No. 6. - - - - 80 

41 From Mrs. , Nov. 30. — Inclosing Erse Songs, with 

the Music - - - - - 82 

42 To Dalrymple, Esq. — Congratulation on his becoming 

a Poet — Praise of Lord Glencairn - - 84 

43 To Mrs. Dunlop. Written on Recovery from Sickness 86 

44 To the same, Feb. 12. — Defetice of himself - - 87 

45 To a Lady, who had heard that he had ridiculed her - 87 

46 To Mr. Cleghorn. Mentioning his having composed the 

first Stanza of the Chevalier's Lament - - 89 

47 To Mrs. Dunlop. Giving an Account of his Prospects - 90 

48 To Professor Dogald Steward, May 3, 1788. Thanks for his 

Friendship - - * - - - 91 

49 To Mrs. Dunlop, May 4, Remarks on Dryden's Virgil, and 

Pope's Odyssey - - - - 92 

50 To the same, May 27. General Reflections - - 93 

51 To the same, at Mrs. Dunlop's, Haddington, June 13. Ac- 

count of his Marriage - - - '9^ 

52 To Mr. P. Hill. With a Present of Cheese - - 96 

53 To Mrs. Dunlop. With Lines on a Hermitage - 100 

54 To the same. Farther Account of his Marriage - 102 

55 To the same, Aug. ]6. liefleciions on Human Life - 104 

56 To R. Graham, of Finiry, Esq. A Petition for a Situation 

in the Excise - - - - 107 

57 To Mr. P. Hill, Oct. 1. Criticism on a Poem, intiiled * An 

Address to Lochlomond' - - - 108 

58 To Mrs. Dunlop, at Moreham Maines, Nov. 1.1 - -1 12 



CONTENTS. V 

No. ^°g^- 

5g To , Nov. 8. Defence of ihe Family of ihe Stuarts. 

Baseness of insulting fallen Greatness - - 113 

60 To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 17. With the Soldier's Song—* Go 

fetch to me a Pinto' Wine' - - - 117 

61 To a young Lady, who had heard he had been malting a Bal- 

lad on her, inclosing that Ballad - - 1 ig 

62 To Sir John Whitefoord. Thanks for Friendship— Reflec- 

tions on the Poetical Character - - 121 

63 From Gilbert Burns, Jan. 1, 1789- Reflections suggested by 

the Day - - - - - 123 

64 To Mrs. Dunlop. Rtflections on New Year's Day - 124 

65 To Dr. Moore. Account of his Situation and Prospects - 126 

66 To Professor Sewari, requiring his critical Aid. Jan. 20 129 

67 To Bishop Geddes, Feb. 3. - - - 131 

68 To Mrs. Dunlop, March 4. Refleciious after a Visit to 

Edinburgh - - - - 133 
6q To the Rev. P. Carfrae. Advice respecting the Publication 

of Mr. Milne's Poems - - - 135 

70 To Dr. Moore, March 28. Inclosing a Poem - 137 

71 To Mr. Hill, April 2. Apostrophe to Frugality - 139 

72 To Mrs. Dunlop, April 4. With Lines to the Right Hon. 

C. J. Fox - - - - - 142 

73 To Mr. Cunningham, May 4. With the first Draught of 

the Poem on a wounded Hare - _ - i43 

74 To Mr. M'Auley, of Dumbarton, June 4. Account of his 

Situation . . - - . 144 

75 To Mrs. Dunlop, June 21. Reflections on Religion - 146 

76 From Dr. Moore, June 10. Good Advice - - 147 

77 From Mr. . Some Account of Ferguson - 150 

78 To Mr. . In Answer. - - - 151 

79 To Miss Williams, 1789. Thanks for her Poetic Compli- 

ment _ - _ . . 155 

80 From Miss Williams, Aug. 7. In Answer - - 154 

81 To Mrs. Dunlop, Sept. 6. Praise of Zeluco - - 155 

82 To. R. Graham, Esq. Inclosing some Electioneering Bal- 

lads, &c. - - - - - 158 

S3 To Mrs. Dunlop. Serious and interesting Reflections - 16O 

84 To Sir John Sinclair. Account of a Book Society among 

the Farmers of Niihsdale - - -163 

85 To Charles Sharpe, Esq. Inclosing a Ballad - - 166 

86 To Mr. Gilbert Burns, Jan. 11, 179O. With a Prologue 

spoken on the Dumfries Theatre - - 169 

87 To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 25. Some Account of Falconer, 

Author of the Shipwreck ... j^O 

88 From Mr. Cunningham. Enquiries after our Bard - 172 

89 To Mr. Cunningham, Feb. 13. In Reply to the above - 174 

b 



189 



\q6 



vi CONTENTS. 

^^- Page, 

90 To Mr. Hill, March 2. Orders for Books - - 177 

91 To Mrs. Dunloj), April 10. Remarks on the Lounger, and 

on Mr. Mackenzie's Writings - - - 180 

92 To Dr. Moore. Thanks for a Present of Zeluco - 183 
iJ3 To Mrs. Dunloj), Aug. 8. Written under a Feeling of 

wounded Pride - - - . 185 

94 To Mr. Cunningham, Aug. 8. Aspirations after Indepen- 

dence - - - _ - 186 

95 To Mrs. Dunlop, Nov. Congratulations on the Birth of 

her Grandson - - > , 187 

96 To Mr. Cunningham, Jan. 23, 1791. With an Elegy on 

Miss Burnet, of Monboddo - - . 

97 To Mr. Peter Hill, Jan. 17. Indignant Apostrophe to Po- 

verty - . - - - 190 

98 From A. F. Tyiler, Esq. Criticism on *Tam o* Shanter' 192 

99 To the same. In Answer _ » . ig4 

100 To Mrs. Dunlop, Feb. 7. Inclosing his Elegy on Miss 

Burnet - - - - . 

101 To Lady W. ^L Constable. Acknowledging a Present of 

a Snuff Box .... jg7 

102 To Mrs. Graham, of Fin try. Inclosing * Queen Mary's 

Lament' ..... ipg 

103 From the Rev. G. Baird, Feb. 8. Requesting Assistance 

in publishing the Poems of Michael Bruce . Igg 

10-1- To the Rev. G. Baird. In Reply to the above - 201 

105 To Dr. Moore. Inclosing * Tarn o* Shanter,' &c. . 202 

106 From Dr. Moore, March 29. With Remarks on 'Tarn o' 

Shanter,' &:c. . . , . 20G 

107 To the Rev. Arch. Alison, Feb. 14. Acknowledging his 

Present of the * Essays on the Principles of Taste,' with 
Reujarks on the Book - - - - 209 

108 To Mr, Cunningham. With a Jacobite Song, &c. - 210 

109 To Mrs. Dunlop. Comparison between Female Attractions 

in high and humble Life - - - 212 

UO To . Acknowledging Indolence - - 214 

111 To Mr. Cunningham, June il. Requesting his Interest for 

an oppressed Friend -' - - - 214 

111 From the Earl of Buchan. Inviting the Bard to the Coro- 

nation of the Bust of I'homson on Ednam Hill - 217 

112 To the Earl of Buchan. In Reply - - 218 

113 From the Earl of Buchan, Sept. 16. Proposing a Subject 

for our Peel's Muse - - - - 219 

114 To Lady E. Cunningham. Inclosing the * Lament for 

James Earl of Glencairn' - - - 220 

115 To Mr. Ainslie. State of his Mind after Inebriation - 221 
1 \6 From Sir John Whitefoord, Oct. 16. Thanks for the * La- 
ment on James Earl of Glencairu' - - , 223 



CONTENTS. vii 

No. Page, 

117 From A. F. Tytler, Esq. Nov. 27. Criticism on the Whis- 

tle and the Lament _ . - - 224 

118 To Miss Davies. Apology for neglecting her Commands. 

Moral Reflections - _ _ - 226 

119 To Mrs. Dunlop. Inclosing the * Song of Death' - 229 

120 To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 5, 1792. Acknowledging the Pre- 

sent of a Cup - - . - 230 

121 To Mr. William Smellie, Printer, Jan. 22. Introducing 

Mrs. Riddel - - - - 231 

122 To Mr. W. Nicol. Ironical Thanks for Advice - 233 

123 To Mr. Cunningham, March 3. Commissions his Arms to 

be cut on a Seal. Moral Reflections - - 235 

124 To Mrs. Dunlop. Account of his meeting with Miss 

L — ^B — , and inclosing a Song on her - - 237 

125 To Mr. Cunningham. Wild Apostrophe to a Spirit - 240 

126 To Mrs. Dunlop, Sep. 24. Account of his Family - 245 

127 To the same. Letter of Condolence under Affliction - 247 

128 To the same. With a Poem entitled the * Rights of Wo- 

men' - . - - . 248 

129 To Miss B. of York. Letter of Friendship - - 251 

130 To Miss C. Character and Temperament of a Poet - 252 
}31 To John M'Murdo, Esq. Rei)aying Money - - 254 

132 To Mrs. R. Advising her what Play to bespeak at the 

Dumfries Theatre - - - . 254 

133 To a Lady, In Favour of a Player's Benefit - - 256 

134 To Mr . On his Prospects in the Excise - 257 

135 To Mrs. Paying his Respects. On ihe.gin-horse 

Class of Society - - - _ 258 

136 To the same - - . - . 259 

137 To the same. Lending Werter - - _ 260 

138 To the same. On a Return of interrupted Friendship - 261 

139 To the same. On a temporary Estrangement - jb. 

140 To John Syme, Esq. Reflections on theHappiness of Mr. O. 262 

141 To Miss ' — . Requesting the Return of Manuscripts 

lent to a deceased Friend _ . _ 264 

142 To Mr. Cunningham. Melancholy Reflections. Chearing 

Prospects of a belter Wo7 id - - - 265 

143 To Mrs. R. Supposes himself to be writing from the Dead 

to the Living - - . _ 268 

144 To Mrs. Dnnlop, Dec. 15, 1795. Reflections on the Situ- 

ation of his Family in Case of his Death. Praise of Cow- 
per's * Task' - - _ . . o-jq 

145 To Mrs. Dunlop, in London. Expresses his Disappoint- 

ment — Appointment to the Excise — His Religious Feel- 
ings—Remarks on Dr. Moore's ' View of Society and 
Manners,' &c. . . .., . . 273 



viii CONTENTS. 

No. Page. 

146 To Mrs, K. Jan. 20, 1796. Thanks for ihe Travels of 

Atiacharsis ----- 275 

147 To Mrs. Dunlop. Account of the Death of her Daughter, 

and of his own ill Heahh - - - 276 

148 To Mrs. K. June 4, 176'6. Apology for not going to the 

Birth-night Assembly - . - 277 

149 To Mr. Cunningham. Account of his Illness, and of his 

Poveri.y. Anticipation of his Death - - 278 

150 To Mrs. Bnrn:i. Sea Bathing affords litile Relief - 279 

151 To Mrs. Dunlop, July 12, 1796. Last Farewell - 280 

152 I CORRESPONDENCE between Mr. THOMPSON and 
to > Mr. BURNS, including Criticisms on Scottish Poetry, 

237-^ and on many of his Songs, &c. - - 281 

238 To Mr John Richmoml, Edinburgh. Giving an Account 

of some of liis Conipositions - - - 408 

239 To Mr. M'W— ie, Writer, Ayr. With four Copies of his 

Poems. Anxiety of a Poet militant - - 410 

240 To Mons. James Smiih, Mauchlin. Voyage to the West 

Indies dekiyed — Woman! - - - 411 

241 To Mr. David Brice. About to commence Poet in Print, 

and then purposes to turn a wise Man - - 412 

242 To Gavin Hamilton. Rising Fame — His Birih-day to be 

inserted in the Almanacks — Patronage - - 413 

243 To Dr. Mackenzie. Inclosing extempore Verses — Charac- 

ter of Proffssor D. Stewart - - - 415 

244 To J. Ballantyne, Esq. A Host of Patrons - - 4l6 

245 To Mr. Wm. Chalmers. A humourous Sally - 418 

246 To J. Ballantyne, Esq. Mr. Miller's Offer of a Farm at 

Dalswinton — Honours done him at a Mason Lodge - 419 

247 To the same. With a Copy of Verses - - 421 

248 To the same. Poems on the Eve of Publication - ib. 

249 To Mr. James Candlish. Return from Scepticism to Re- 

ligion — Still * the old Man with his Deeds' - 422 

250 To the same. Engages to assist Johnson in the Scots Mu- 

sical Museum - . - - 423 

851 To Wm. Creech, Esq. Relates his Tour in Scotland - 424 
262 To Mr. Wm. Nicol. A Journey on his Mare, Jenny 

Geddes - - - - - 425 

253 To the same. Milton's Satan his Favourite — Misfortune of 

the Poetic Character — Estimate of his Friends and Ac- 
quaintance - . - - 427 

254 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Account of his Rambles - 430 

255 To Miss Margaret Chalmers. FiresideofWisdoin and Pru- 

dence — Admiration of the fair Sex - - 432 

256 About a Farm at Dumfries. Compliment to Charlotte - - 433 



CONTENTS. IK 

No. P^g^- 

257 Hints about Letter-writing. Affection— The Wabster's 

Grace - - - - - 436 

258 A bruised Limb, and blue Devils, Taken up with the 

Bible - - - - - 437 

259 On the Stilts, not Poetic, but Oaken. His Motto, 1 dare 

— His Enemy, moimeme > - _ 433 

260 Bargain for the Ellisland Farm completed. Settling to Bu- 

sidess — Firmness _ - - - 439 

261 Hair-breadih Escapes— Forebodings - - 440 

262 Entered into the Excise — Satisfied with himself - 441 

263 Excellent Character of Mibs Kennedy - - 441 
S64 To Miss M n. Compliments a Greenland Expression 444 

265 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Declines a Supper Engagement- 

Warm Friendship . - - - 445 

266 To Miss Chalmers. Reproaches her Timidity respecting 

his Poetic Complin;ients - - - 446 

267 To Mr. Morison. A ludicrous Specimen of the Bathos - 448 

268 To Mr. James Smith. Opens a 24-gun Battery. Estimate 

of some Men's Ideas. His recent Marriage - 449 

269 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Finishing his Excise Instructions. 

Fortunate in his Bargains. Conjugal Happiness - 451 

270 To Mrs. Dunlop. Description of his Happiness in the 

married State , - - . 452 

271 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Cares and Anxieties— Fancy and 

Judgment — Hints about Marriage - - 453 

272 To the same. Folly of talking about one's private Affairs- 

Close of a Letter of Bolingbroke to Swift - - 455 

273 To Mr. George Lockhart. The lovely Miss Bailies — Idea 

of an accomplished Woman - - - 457 

274 To Mr. Beugo, At a Loss for social Communication — El- 

lisland the Elbow of Existence — Ayrshire, and his Dar- 
ling Jean - _ « - 458 

275 To Miss Chalmers. Tender Regrets — His Marriage — De- 

scription of Mrs. Burns . - - 460 

276 To Mrs. Dunlop. Grateful for her Criticisms — Verses on 

a Mother's Loss of her Son - - - 463 

277 To Mr. James Johnson. Two more Songs — Asks a fair 

Subject for his Muse - . - - 466 

278 To Dr. Blacklock. Poetical Labours— The Doctor's Be- 

rrevolence - - _ _ _ 467 

279 To Mr. Robt. Ainslie. Complimenis of the Season — Rea- 

son and Resolve — Never to despair - - 469 

280 To Mr. James Hamilton. Sympathy in bis Misfortunes 470 

281 To William Creech, Esq. Toolh-ache personified— Ano- 

ther Specimen of the Bathos - . - 471 



X CONTENTS. 

^0. Page. 

282 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Overwhelmed with Business — Se- 

rious Counsel - - - ' - 472 

283 To Capt. Riddel. Poetic Compositions . - 474 

285 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Appointed to an Excise Commis- 

sion. Droll Harangue of a Recruiting Serjeant - 477 

286 To Mr. Peter Hill. Apology for his Silence — Remarks on 

SmoUet's Works > . _ . 47^ 

287 To Mr. William Nicol. A dead Mare. Theatrical Com- 

pany - - - - - 481 

288 To Mr. Murdoch. Apology for Negligence — Veneration 

for his Father _ - - . 434 

289 To Crawford Tail, Esq, Character and Recommendation 

of Mr. W. Duncan. His own Condition - - 486 

290 To . Imprecations _ - _ 438 

291 To Mr. Alexander Dalziel. Laments the Death of his 

noble Patron, Lord Glencairn - - _ 439 

292 To Mr. Thomas Sloan. Favourite Quotations on Fortitude 

and Perseverence - - _ _ 490 

293 To Francis Grose, Esq. Introducing Profesfsor Dugald 

Stewart ----- 492 

294 To the same. Three Traditions ; one of them the Founda- 

tion of * Tam 0' Shanter' - - _ 493 

295 To R. Graham, Esq. Exculpates himt»elf from a Charge of 

Disaffection to Government > - . 4()7 

296 To Mr. T. Clarke. Humourous Invitation to come and 

teach Music in the Country - - - 493 

297 To Mrs. Dunlop. Serious Thoughts — Resolves to leave 

off Drinking and Politics - - - 499 

298 To Patrick Miller, Esq. With a Copy o^ a new Edition of 

his Poems - - - - - 501 

299 To J. F. Erskine, Esq. Gratitude for his Patronage — 

Constitution and Reform — His Independence » 502 

300 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. The merry Devil, Spunkie his 

tutelar Genius. Thoughts on Scholarcraft — A Tailor's 
Progress in Theology - - - 506 

301 To Miss K . Force of Beauty on Poets. ABenediction 508 

302 To Lady Glencairn. Thanks and Gratitude — Advantages 

of his Excise Business — The Drama - - 510 

303 To the Earl of Buchan. With a Copy of * Bruce to his 
Troops' - - - - - 512 

304 To the Earl of Glencairn. Remembrance of his noble 

Brother, with a Copy of a new Edition of his Poems 513 

305 To Dr. Anderson. Declines assisting in his purposed Pub- 

lication. Curses the Excise - - - 514 

306 To Mrs. Dnnlop. Ill Health — Fragment of a Poem on 

. Liberty - - - - • ^ 51S 



CONTENTS. xi 

No. Poge. 

307 To Mr. James Johnson. Sends 41 Songs for the olh vol. 

of the Museum — Lord B.'s Dirk . . 5lQ 

308 To Miss Fontenelle. Accompanying a Prologue to be 

spoken on her Benefit .... 518 

309 To Peter Miller, Esq. Declines an Engagement in the 

Morning Chronicle — Oflfers occasional Contributions . 5iy 
810 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Congratulations on returning 

Health — Cautions against Drinking — Father Auld . 520 

311 To Mr. Sam. Clarke. Deep Concern respecting a Quarrel 

— A Toast the Cause of it . . . 522 

312 To Mr. Alexander Findlater. Schemes — Wishes — Hopes 523 

313 To the Editors of the Morning Chronicle. On the Marquis 

of Lansdowne's Speech . . . 524 

314 To Col. W. Dunbar. Is still alive, fulfilling one great End 

of his Existence — Compliments of the Season in the Bard's 
own Stile ..... 525 

315 To Mr. Heron. Political Ballads — His Situation and Ex- 

pectations in the Excise . . . 526 

316 Address of the Scots Distillers to Mr. Pitt . . 528 

317 Letter to the Provost, &c. of Dumfries . . 532 

318 To Mr. James Johnson, Edinburgh . . 533 
LETTERS TO CLARINDA, &c. . . 535 
Poem to Clarinda .... 583 



APPENDIX. 



My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't . 

Robin share in Hairst 

Tibbie Dunbar 

O guid Ale comes 

O leave Novels 

Could aught of Song 

O ay my Wife she dang me 

Here's to thy Health, my bonnie Lassie . 

Epistle on Emigration 

Letter and Poem on the Lord President's Death 

Letter to Mr. M r, Kilmarnock 

Illustrative Description of the Engravings 
Roscoe on the Death of Burns 
Monody by S. Kemble, Esq, . 



585 
586 
687 
ib. 
588 
588 
589 
590 
i>9l 
593 
596 
598 
605 
609 



DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES. 



Page,, 

1. Mausoleum in Memory of Burns, opposite the Title. / 

2. The Cottage in which Burns was born, opposite - 9^ 

3. Lincluden College S6^ 

4. Fallof Aberfeldy ------- 77v\ 

5. The Remains of Alloway Kirk - - - - - 293 / 

6. The Cotter's Saturday Night 354 

7. TheBanksofDoon 376 

8. TheFallofFyers 431^ 



/ 



LETTERS^ 

&c. &c. 

No. 1. 
TO A FEMALE FRIEND. 

Written about the year 1780. 

I VERILY believe, my dear E. that the 
pure genuine feelings of love, are as rare in the 
world as the pure genuine principles of virtue and 
piety. This I hope will account for the uncom- 
mon style of all my letters to you. By uncom- 
mon, I mean, their being written in such a 
serious manner, which, to tell you the truth, has 
made me often afraid lest 3^ou should take me for 
some zealous bigot, w^ho conversed with his mis- 
tress as he would converse with his minister. I 
don't know how it is, my dear; for though, ex- 
cept your company, there is nothing on earth 
gives me so much pleasure as writing to you, yet 
it never gives me those giddy raptures so much 
talked of amontr lovers. I have often thouP'ht 
that if a well grounded affection be not really a 
part of virtue, 'tis something extremely akin to 

B 



( 2 ) 

it. Whenever the thought of my E. warms my 
heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle 
of generosity, kindles in my breast. It extin- 
guishes every dirty spark of malice and envy, 
which are but too apt to infest me. I grasp every 
creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and 
equally participate in the pleasures of the happy, 
and sympathize with the miseries of the unfortu- 
nate. 1 assure you, my dear, I often look up to 
the divine disposer of events, with an eye of gra- 
titude for the blessing which I hope he intends to 
bestow on me, in bestowing you. I sincerely 
wish that he may bless my endeavours to make 
your life as comfortable and happy as possible, 
both in sweetening the rougher parts of my 
natural temper, and bettering the unkindly cir- 
cumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a 
passion, at least in my view, worthy of a man, 
and I will add, worthy of a Christian. The sordid 
earth-worm may profess love to a woman's person, 
whilst in reality his affection is centered in her 
pocket ; and the slavish drudge may go a wooing 
as he goes to the horse- market, to chuse one who 
is stout and firm, and as we may say of an old 
horse, one who will be a good drudge and draw 
kindly. I disdain their dirty, puny ideas. 1 
would be heartily out of humour with myself, if 
I thought I were capable of having so poor a no- 
tion of the sex, which were designed to crown the 
pleasures of society. Poor devils ! I don't envy 
them tlieir l^appiness who have such notions. For 
my part I propose quite other pleasures with my 
dear partner. 



(3 ) 

No. 2. 
TO THE SAME. 

My Dear E. 

L DO not remember, in the course of 
your acquaintance and mine, ever to have heard 
your opinion on the ordinary way of falling in 
love, amongst people of our station of Hfe : I do 
not mean the persons who proceed in the way of 
bargain, but those whose affection is really placed 
on the person. 

Though I be, as you know very well, but a 
very auk ward lover myself, yet as I have some 
opportunities of observing the conduct of others 
who are much better skilled in the affair of court- 
ship than I am, 1 often think it is owing to lucky 
chance more than to good management, that there 
are not more unhappy marriages than usually are. 

It is natural for a young fellow to like the ac- 
quaintance of the females, and customary for him 
to keep them company when occasion serves ; 
some one of them is more agreeable to him than 
the rest ; there is something, he knows not what, 
pleases him, he knows not how, in her company. 
This I take to be what is called love with the 
greatest part of us, and I must own my dear E. it 
is a hard game such a one as you have to play 
when you meet with such a lover. You cannot 
admit but he is sincere, and yet, though you use 
him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few months, 
or at farthest a year or two, the same unaccount- 



( ^ ) 

able fancy may make him as distractedly fond of 
another, v;hilst you are quite forgot. I am aware 
that perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of 
seeing you, you may bid me take my own lesson 
home, and tell me that the passion I have pro- 
fessed for you is perhaps one of those transient 
flashes I have been describing; but I hope, my 
dear E. you wall do me the justice to believe me, 
when I assure you, that the love I have for you is 
founded on the sacred principles of virtue and 
honour ; and by consequence, so long as you con- 
tinue possessed of those amiable qualities which 
first inspired my passion for you, so long must I 
continue to love you. Believe me, my dear, it is 
love like this alone w hich can render the married 
state happy. People may talk of flames and rap- 
tures as long as they please; and a warm fancy, 
with a flow of youthful spirits, may make them 
feel something like what they describe ; but sure 
I am, the nobler faculties of the mind, with kin- 
dred feelings of the heart, can only be the foun- 
dation of friendship ; and it has always been my 
opinion, that the married life was only friendship 
in a more exalted degree. 

If you will be so good as to grant my wishes, 
and it should please providence to spare us to the 
latest periods of life, I can look forvvard and see, 
that even then, though bent down with wrinkled 
age; even then, when all other worldly circum- 
stances wdll be indifferent to me, I will regard my 
E. with the tenderest affection ; and for this plain 
reason, because she is still possessed of those noble 
qualities, improved to a much higher degree, 
which first inspired my affection for her. 



( 5 ) 

' O ! happy state, when souls each other draw, 
* When love is liberty, and natvire law/ 

I know, were I to speak in such a style to 
many a girl, who thinks herself possessed of no 
small share of sense, she would think it ridiculous 
— but the language of the heart is, my dear E. the 
only courtship I shall ever use to you. 

When I look over what I have written, I am 
sensible it is vastly different from the ordinary 
style of courtship — but I shall make no apology — 
I know your good nature will excuse what your 
good sense may see amiss. 



No. 3. 

TO THE SAME. 

My Dear E. 

X HAVE often thought it a peculiarly 
unlucky circumstance in love, that though in 
every other situation in life, telling the truth is 
not only the safest, but actually by far the easiest 
way of proceeding ; a lover is never under greater 
difficulty in acting, or more puzzled for expres- 
sion, than when his passion is sincere, and his in- 
tentions are honourable. 1 do not think that it is 
very difficult for a person of ordinary capacity to 
talk of love and fondness, which are not felt, and 
to make vows of constancy and fidelity, which are 
never intended to be performed, if he be villain 
enough to practice such detestable conduct: but 



(6) 

to a man whose heart glows with the principles of 
integrity and truth ; and who sincerely loves a 
woman of amiable person, uncommon refinement 
of sentiment, and purity of manners — to such a 
one, in such circumstances, I can assure you, my 
dear, from my own feelings at this present mo- 
ment, courtship is a task indeed. There is such 
a number of foreboding fears, and distrustful 
anxieties crowd into my mind when I am in your 
company, or when I sit down to write to you, 
that what to speak or what to write I am alto- 
gether at a loss. 

There is one rule which I have hitherto prac- 
tised, and which I shall invariably keep with you, 
and that is, honestly to tell you the plain truth. 
There is something so mean and unmanly in the 
arts of dissimulation and falsehood, that I am sur- 
prised they can be used by any one in so noble, so 
generous a passion as virtuous love. No, my dear 
E. I shall never endeavour to gain your favour by 
such detestable practices. If you will be so good 
and so generous as to admit me for your partner, 
your companion, your bosom friend through life ; 
there is nothing on this side of eternity shall give 
me greater transport ; but I shall never think of 
purchasing your hand by any arts unworthy of a 
man, and 1 will add, of a Christian. There is one 
thing, my ^ear, which I earnestly request of you, 
and it is this ; that you would soon either put an 
end to my hopes by a peremptory refusal, or cure 
me of my fears by a generous consent. 

It would oblige me much if you would send me 
a line or two when convenient. I shall only add 
further, that if a behaviour regulated (though per- 



( 7 ) 

haps but very imperfectly) by the rules of honour 
and virtue, if a heart devoted to love and esteem 
you, and an earnest endeavour to promote your 
happiness ; if these are qualities you would wish 
in a friend, in a husband ; I hope you shall ever 
find them in your real friend and sincere lover. 



No. 4. 
TO THE SAME. 



X OUGHT in good manners to have ac- 
knowledged the receipt of your letter before this 
time, but my heart was so shocked with the con- 
tents of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my 
thoughts so as to write to you on the subject. I 
will not attempt to describe what I felt on re- 
ceiving your letter. I read it over and over, again 
and again, and though it was in the politest lan- 
guage of refusal, still it was peremptory ; * you 
were very sorry you could not make me a return, 
but you wish me' what without you I never can 
obtain, *you wish me all kind of happiness.' It 
would be weak and unmanly to say that without 
you I never can be happy; but sure I am, that 
sharing life with you, would have given it a relish, 
that, wanting you, I never can taste. 

Your uncommon personal advantages, and your 
superior good sense, do not so much strike me; 
these possibly in a few instances may be met with 
in others ; but that amiable goodness, that tender 
feminine softness, that endearing sweetness of dis- 



( 8) 

position, with all the charming offspring of a warm 
feeling heart — these I never again expect to meet 
with in such a degree in this world. All these 
charming qualities, heightened by an education 
much beyond any thing I have ever met with in 
any woman I ever dared to approach, have made 
an impression on my heart that I do not think 
the world can ever efface. My imagination had 
fondly flattered itself with a wish, I dare not say 
it ever reached a hope, that possibly I might one 
day call you mine. I had formed the most de- 
lightful images, and my fancy fondly brooded over 
them ; but now I am wretched for the loss of what 
I really had no right to expect. I must now think 
no more of you as a mistress, still I presume to ask 
to be admitted as a friend. As such I wish to be 
allowed to wait on you, and as I expect to remove 
in a few days a little farther off, and you I suppose 
will perhaps soon leave this place, 1 wish to see 
you or hear from you soon ; and if an expression 
should perhaps escape me rather too warm for 
friendship, I hope you will pardon it in, my dear 

Miss , (pardon me the dear expression for 

once.) 



(9) 

No. 5. 
TO HIS FATHER* 

Jrvi7ie, Dec. 27 fh. 17^1. 

Honoured Sir, 

J HAVE purposely delayed writing, in 
the hope that I should have the pleasure of seeing 
you on Xew-year's-day ; but work comes so hard 
upon us, that I do not choose to be absent on that 
account, as well as for some other little reasons, 
which J shall tell you at meeting. IMy health is 
nearly the same as when you were here, only my 
sleep is a little sounder, and on the whole I am 
rather better than otherwise, though I mend by 
very slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves 
has so debilitated my mind, that I dare neither 
review past wants, nor look forward into futurity ; 
for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast, 
produces most unhappy effects on my w4iole frame. 
Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two my 
spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a little into 
futurity : but my principal, and indeed my only 
pleasurable employment, is looking backwards 
and forwards in a moral and religious way, I am 
quite transported at the thought, that ere long, 

* The following letter, addressed to his father, was written 
at the time >vhen the Author was learning the business of a flax- 
dresser, six or seven years before his name had been heard of 
out of his own family. It evinces a dignity of thought and ex- 
pression, and an elevation of sentiment, far superior to what 
flight be expected from one in his humble station. 

c 



( 10 ) 

perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to 
all the pains, and uneasinesses, and disquietudes 
of this weary life ; for I assure you, I am heartily 
tired of it, and if I do not very much deceive 
myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. 

' The soul uneasy and confined at home. 
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.' 

It is for this reason 1 am more pleased with the 
15th, 16th, and 17th, verses of the 7th chapter 
of Revelations,* than with any ten times as many 
verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange 
the noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me, 
for all that this world has to offer. As for this 
world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I 
am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the 
flutter of the gay. I shall never again be capable 
of entering into such scenes. Indeed I am alto- 
gether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. 
I forsee that poverty and obscurity probably await 
me, and I am in some measure prepared, and 
daily preparing to meet them. I have but just 
time and paper to return you my grateful thanks, 
for the lessons of virtue and piety you have given 
me, which were too much neglected at the time 
of giving them, but which, I hope, have been re- 
membered ere it is yet too late. Present my 

* * Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve 
iiim day and night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the 
throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, 
neither thirst any more ; neither shall the sun light on them, 
nor any heat. For the lamb that is m the midst of the throne 
shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of 
waters ; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' 



( n ) 

dutiful respects to my mother, and my compli- 
ments to Mi. and Mrs. Muir; and, with wishing 
you a merry New-year's day, I shall conclude. 
I am, honoured Sir, 
Your dutiful son, 

ROBERT BURNS 



No. 6. 
TO MR. JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOLMASTER, 

STAPLES INN BUILDINGS, LONDON. 

Lochlee, I5th. January, 1783. 

Dear Sir, 

As I have an opportunity of sending you 
a letter without putting you to that expence, 
which any production of mine would but ill repay ; 
I embrace it with pleasure to tell you that I have 
not forgotten, nor ever will forget, the many obli- 
gations I lie under to your kindness and friend- 
ship. 

I do not doubt, sir, but you will wish to know 
what has been the result of all the pains of an in- 
dulgent father, and a masterly teacher; and I 
wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a 
recital as you would be pleased with ; but that is 
what I am afraid will not be the case. I have, 
indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits ; and in 
this respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace 
the education I have gotten ; but as a man of the 
world, I am most miserably deficient. One would 



( 12 ) 

have thought that, bred as I have been, under a 
father who has figured pretty well as vn homme 
dcs affaires, 1 might have been w^hat the world calls, 
a pushing active fellow ; but to tell you the truth, 
sir, there is hardly any thing more my reverse. 
I seem to be one sent into the world, to see, and 
observe; and I very easily compound with the 
knave who tricks me of my money, if there be 
any thing original about him, w^hich shews me 
human nature in a different light from any thing 
I have seen before. In short, the joy of my heart 
is to * study men, their manners, and their ways ;' 
and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice 
every other consideration. I am quite indolent 
about those great concerns that set the bustling, 
busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer 
for the present hour, I am very easy with regard 
to any thing further. Even the last, worst shift 
of the unfortunate and the wretched, does not 
much terrify me: I know that even then, my ta- 
lent for, what country folks call ' a sensible crack,' 
when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would 
procure me so much esteem, that even then — 1 
would learn to be happy.* However, I am under 
no apprehensions about that, for though indolent, 
yet so far as an extremely delicate constitution per- 
mits, I am not lazy; and in many things, espe- 
cially in tavern matters, I am a strict economist ; 
not, indeed, for the sake of the money ; but one 
of the principal parts in my composition is a kind 
of pride of stomach ; and I scorn to fear the face 

* The last shift alluded to here, must be the condition of an 
itinerant beggar. 



( 13 ) 

of any man living : above every thing, I abhor as 
hell, the idea of sneaking in a corner to avoid a 
dun — possibly some pitiful, sordid wretch, who in 
my heart I despise and detest. 'Tis this, and this 
alone, that endears economy to me. In the mat- 
ter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My 
favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such 
as Skenstone, particularly his Elegies; Thomson; 
Man of Feeling, a book I prize next to the Bible ; 
Man of the World; Sterne, especially his Senti- 
mental Journey ; M'Pherso7i\s Ossian, &c. : these 
are the glorious models after w^hich I endeavour 
to form my conduct ; and 'tis incongruous, 'tis 
absurd to suppose that the man whose mind 
glows with sentiments lighted up at their sacred 
flame — the man whose heart distends with bene- 
volence to all the w^hole human race — he ' who can 
soar above this little scene of things' — can he de- 
scend to mind the paltry concerns about which 
the terraefilial race fret, and fume, and vex them- 
selves ! O how the glorious triumphs swells my 
heart ! I forget that I am a poor insignificant devil, 
unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down 
fairs and markets, when I happen to be in them, 
reading a page or two of Mankind, and * catching 
the manners living as they rise,' whilst the men of 
business jostle me on every side, as an idle incum- 
brance in their way, — But I dare say 1 have by 
this time tired your patience; so I shall conclude 
with begging you to give Mrs. Murdoch — not my 
compliments, for that is a mere common place 
story; but my warmest, kindest wishes for her 
welfare; and accept of the same for yourself, from, 
Dear Sir, yourvS, &c. 



( 14 > 



No. 7. 

'Flie following is taken from the Manuscript prose presented 
by our Bard to Mr, Riddel, 

Un rummaging over some old papers I 
lighted on a MS. of my early years, in which I 
had determined to write myself out; as I was 
placed by fortune among a class of men to whom 
my ideas would have been nonsense. I had meant 
that the book should have lain by me, in the fond 
hope, that some time or other, even after I was 
no more, my thoughts would fall into the hands 
of somebody capable of appreciating their value. 
It sets off thus : 

Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, <|c. 
by R. B. — a man who had little art in making 
money, and still less in keeping it ; but was, how- 
ever, a man of some sense, a great deal of honesty, 
and unbounded good will to every creature, ra- 
tional and irrational. As he was but little indebt- 
ed to scholastic education, and bred at a plough- 
tail, his performances must be strongly tinctured 
with his unpolished, rustic way of life ; but as I 
believe they are really his own, it may be some 
entertainment to a curious observer of human na- 
ture to see how a ploughman thinks and feels, 
under the pressure of love, ambition, anxiety, 
grief, with the like cares and passions, which, 
however diversified by the 7}iodes and 7nanners of 
life, operate pretty much alike, I believe, on all 
the species. 



( 15 ) 

* There are numbers in the world, who do not 
want sense to make a figure, so much as an opi- 
nion of their own abilities, to put them upon re- 
cording their observations, and allowing them the 
same importance which they do to those which 
appear in print.' Shenstone. 

* Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace 
The forms our pencil or our pen designed ! 

Such was our youthful air, and shppe, and face, 
Such the soft image of our youthful mind.' 

Shenstone. 

April, 1783. 

Notwithstandincr all that has been said ac^ainst 
love, respecting the folly and weakness it leads a 
young inexperienced mind into ; still I think it in 
a great measure deserves the highest encomiums 
that have been passed on it. If any thing on earth 
deserves the name of rapture or transport, it is 
the feelings of green eighteen, in the company of 
the mistress of his heart, when she repays him 
with an equal return of affection. 



August. 

There is certainlv some connexion between love, 
and music, and poetry ; and therefore, I have al- 
ways thought a fine touch of nature, that passage 
in a modern love composition, 

^ As toward her cot he jogg-'d along 
Her name was frequent in his song/ 



( 16 ) 

For my own part, I never had the least thought 
or inclination of turning Poet, till I got once 
heartily in love ; and then rhyme and song were, 
in a manner, the spontaneous language of my 
heart. 



Septemher. 

I entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, 
Mr. Smith, in his excellent Theory of Moral Sen- 
timents, that remorse is the most painful sentiment 
that can embitter the human bosom. Any ordi- 
nary pitch of fortitude may bear up tolerably well 
under those calamities, in the procurement of 
which, we ourselves. have had no hand; but when 
our own follies, or crimes, have made us miserable 
and wretched, to bear up with manly firmness, 
and at the same time have a proper penitential 
sense of our misconduct — is a glorious effort of 
self-command. 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. 

That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 

Beyond comparison the worst are those 

That to our folly, or our guilt we owe. 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — ' It was no deed of mine ;' 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — ' Blame thy fooHsh self!' 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt-r 

Of guilt, perhaps where we've involved others : 

The young, the innocent, who fondly loved us 

Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin ! 

O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments 



( 17) 

There 's not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And after proper purpose of am.endment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 

O, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 

O glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



March, 1784. 

I have often observed, in the course of my ex- 
perience of human life, that every man, even the 
worst, has something good about him; though 
very often nothing else than a happy temperament 
of constitution, inclining him to this or that virtue. 
For this reason no man can say in what degree 
any other person, besides himself, can be, with 
strict justice, called nicked. Let any of the 
strictest character for regularity of conduct among 
us, examine impartially how many vices he has 
never been guilty of, not from any care or vigi- 
lance, but for want of opportunity, or some acci- 
dental circumstance intervening; how many of 
the weaknesses of mankind he has escaped, because 
he was out of the line of such temptation : and 
what often, if not always, weighs more than all 
the rest ; how much he is indebted to the world's 
good opinion, because the world does not know 
all; I say any man who can thus think, will scan 
the failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of man- 
kind around him, with a brother's eye. 

I have often courted the acquaintance of that 
part of mankind, commonly known by the ordi- 

D 



( 18 ) 

nary phrase of blackguards; sometimes farther 
than was consistent with the safety of my cha- 
racter: those who by thoughtless prodigality, or 
headstrong passions, have been driven to ruin. — 
Though disgraced by follies, nay sometimes 
' stained with guilt, ********,»! 
have yet found among them, in not a few instances, 
some of the noblest virtues, magnanimity, genero- 
sity, disinterested friendship, and even modesty. 



April. 

As I am what the men of the world, if they 
knew such a man, would call a whimsical mortal ; 
I have various sources of pleasure and enjoyment 
which are, in a manner, peculiar to myself; or 
some here and there, such other out-of-the-way 
person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in 
the season of winter, more than the rest of the 
year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to 
my misfortunes giving my mind a melancholy 
cast ; but there is something even in the 

* Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste 

Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth.'— 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, fa- 
vourable to every thing great and noble. — There 
is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do 
not know if I should call it pleasure — but some- 
thing which exalts me, something which enraptures 
me — than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, 
or high plantation, in a cloudy winter-day, and 



( 19 ) 

hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, 
and raving over the plain. It is my best season 
for devotion : my mind is wrapt up in a kind of 
enthusiasm to Him, who, in the pompous lan- 
guage of the Hebrew bard * walks on the wings 
of the wind.' In one of these seasons, just after a 
train of misfortunes, I composed the following, 

The wintry west extends his blast, &c. 

See Poems J p. 140. 



Shenstone finally observes, that love- verses writ 
without any real passion, are the most nauseous 
of all conceits ; and I have often thought that no 
man can be a proper critic of love-composition, 
except he himself, in one or more instances, have 
been a warm votary of this passion. As I have 
been all along a miserable dupe to love, and have 
been led into a thousand weaknesses and follies by 
it, for that reason I put the more confidence in 
my critical skill, in distinguishing foppery and 
conceit, from real passion and nature. Whether 
the following song will stand the test, I will not 
pretend to say, because it is my own ; only I can 
say it was, at the time, genuine from the heart. 

Behind yon hills, &c. See Poems, p. 372, 



I think the whole species of young men may be 
naturally enough divided into two grand classes, 
which I shall call the grave, and the merry; 



( so ) 

though, by the bye, these terms do not with pro- 
priety enough express my ideas. The grave I 
shall cast into the usual division of those who are 
goaded on by the love of money, and those w^hose 
darling wish is to make a figure in the world. 
The merry, are the men of pleasure of all denomi- 
nations; the jovial lads who have too much fire 
and spirit, to have any settled rule of action ; 
but without much deliberation, follow the strong 
impulses of nature : the thoughtless, the careless, 
the indolent, in particular he, who with a happy 
sweetness of natural temper, and a cheerful va- 
cancy of thought, steals through life, generally 
indeed in poverty and obscurity; but poverty 
and obscurity, are only evils to him who can sit 
gravely down, and make a repining comparison 
between his own situation and that of others ; 
and lastly, to grace the quorum, such are, gene- 
rally, those whose heads are capable of all the 
towerings of genius, and whose hearts are warmed 
with all the delicacy of feeling. 

As the grand end of human life, is to cultivate 
an intercourse with that Being to whom we owe 
life, wdth every enjoyment that can render life 
delightful ; and to maintain an integritive conduct 
towards our fellow creatures ; that so, by forming 
piety and virtue into habit, we may be fit mem- 
bers for that society of the pious and the good, 
w4iich reason and revelation teach us to expect 
beyond the grave : I do not see that the turn of 
mind, and pursuits of any son of poverty and ob- 
scurity, are in the least more inimical to the sacred 
interests of piety and virtue, than the, even law- 
ful, bustling and straining after the world's riches 



( 21 ) 

and honours ; and I do not see but that he may- 
gain Heaven as well, (which by the bye is no 
mean consideration) who steals through the vale 
of life, amusing himself with every little flower 
that fortune throws in his way ; as he who strain- 
ing straight forward, and perhaps bespattering all 
about him, gains some of life's little eminences^ 
where, after all, he can only see, and be seen a 
little more conspicuously, than what, in the pride 
of his heart, he is apt to term, the poor, indolent 
devil he has left behind him. 



There is a noble sublimity, a heart melting ten- 
derness in some of our ancient ballads, which shew 
them to be the work of a masterly hand ; and it 
has often given me many a heart-ache to reflect 
that such glorious old bards — bards Avho very pro- 
bably owed all their talents to native genius ; yet 
have described the exploits of heroes, the pangs of 
disappointment, and the meltings of love, with 
such fine strokes of nature — that their very names 
(O how mortifying to a bard's vanity !) are now 
• buried among the WTCck of things which were.' 

O ye illustrious names unknown ! who could 
feel so strongly, and describe so "well ; the last, the 
meanest of the muses' train — one who though far 
inferior to your flights, yet eyes your path, and 
with trembling wing would sometimes soar after 
you — a poor rustic bard unknown, pays this sym- 
pathetic pang to your memoiy. Some of you tell 
us, with all the charms of verse, that you have 
been unfortunate in the world — unfortunate in 



( 22 ) 

love ; he, too, has felt the loss of his little fortune, 
the loss of friends, and, worst of all, the loss of the 
woman he adored. Like you, all his consolation 
was his muse : she taught him in rustic measures 
to complain. Happy, could he have done it with 
your strength of imagination and flow of verse ! 
May the turf lie lightly on your bones ! and may 
you now enjoy that solace and rest, which this 
world gives to the heart, tuned to all the feelings 
of poesy and love ! 



This is all, worth quoting, in my MSS. and 
more than all. R. B. 



No. 8. 
TO MR. AIKEN, 



(The Gentleman to whom the Cotter's Saturday Night is 
addressed.) 

Ayrshire, 1786. 

Sir, 

X WAS with Wilson, my printer, t'other 
day, and settled all our by-gone matters between 
us. After I had paid him all demands, I made 
him the offer of the second edition, on the hazard 
of being paid out of the first and readiest^ which 
he declines. By his account, the paper of a thou- 
sand copies would cost about twenty-seven pounds, 
and the printing about fifteen or sixteen : he offers 
to agree to this for the printing, if I will advance 



( 23 ) 

for the paper, but this, you know, is out of my 
power ; so farewell hopes of a second edition till 
I grow richer! an epocha, which, I think, will 
arrive at the payment of the British national debt. 

There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much 
in being disappointed of my second edition, as not 
having it in my power to shew my gratitude to 
Mr. Ballantine, by publishing my poem of The 
Brigs of Ayr. I would detest myself as a wretch, 
if I thought I were capable in a very long life of 
forgetting the honest, warm, and tender delicacy, 
with which he enters into my interests. I am 
sometimes pleased with myself in my grateful 
sensations: but, I believe, on the whole, I have 
very little merit in it, as my gratitude is not a 
virtue, the consequence of refleetion ; but sheerly 
the instinctive emotion of a heart, too inattentive 
to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into 
selfish habits. 

I have been feeling all the various rotations and 
movements within, respecting the excise. There 
are many things plead strongly against it ; the un- 
certainty of getting soon into business ; the con- 
sequences of my follies, which may perhaps make 
it impracticable for me to stay at home ; and be- 
sides I have for some time been pining under secret 
wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well 
know — the pang of disappointment, the sting of 
pride, with some wandering stabs of remorse, 
which never fail to settle on my vitals like vul- 
tures, when attention is not called away by the 
calls of society, or the vagaries of the muse. Even 
in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the mad- 
ness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of 



( 24 ) 

the executioner. All these reasons urge me to go 
abroad, and to all these reasons I have only one 
answer — the feelings of a father. This, in the 
present mood I am in, overbalances every thing 
that can be laid in the scale against it. 

-;:^ * * * «• ijC- * 

You may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, 
but it is a sentiment, which strikes home to my 
very soul : though sceptical in some points of our 
current belief, yet, I think, I have every evidence 
for the reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne 
of our present existence; if so then, how should 
I, in the presence of that tremendous Being, the 
Author of existence, how should I meet the re- 
proaches of those who stand to me in the dear 
relation of children, whom I deserted in the 
smiling iimocency of helpless infancy ? O, thou 
great unknown power! Thou almighty God! 
who hast lighted up reason in my breast, and 
blessed me with immortality ! I have frequently 
wandered from that order and regularity necessary 
for the perfection of thy works, yet thou hast 
never left me nor forsaken me | * * * ^ * 

Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen 
something of the storm of mischief thickening 
over my folly-devoted head. Should you, my 
friends, my benefactors, be successful in your ap- 
plications for me, perhaps it may not be in my 
power, in that way, to reap the fruit of your 
friendly efforts. What I have written in the pre- 
ceding pages is the settled tenor of my present 
resolution ; but should inimical circumstances for- 
bid me closing with your kind offer, or enjoying 
it only threaten to entail farther misery — 



( 25 ) 

To tell the truth, I have little reason for this 
last complaint ; as the world, in general, has been 
kind to me fully up to my deserts. I was, for 
some time past, fast getting into the pining, dis- 
trustful, snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself 
alone, unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking at 
every rising cloud in the chance-directed atmos- 
phere of fortune, while, all defenceless, I looked 
about in vain for a cover. It never occurred to 
me, at least never with the force it deserved, that 
this world is a busy scene, and man a creature 
destined for a progressive struggle; and that, 
however I might possess a warm heart and in- 
offensive manners, (which last, by the bye, was 
rather more than I could well boast ;) still, more 
than these passive qualities, there was something 
to be done. When all my school-fellows and 
youthful compeers (those misguided few except- 
ed, who joined, to use a Gentoo phrase, the halla- 
chores of the human race) were striking off with 
eager hope and earnest intent, in some one or 
other of the many paths of busy life, I was 
'standing idle in the market place,' or only left 
the chace of the butterfly from flower to flower, 

to hunt from whim to whim. 

-» *• ^ * ^ * -^ 

You see. Sir, that if to know one's errors were 
a probability of mending them* I stand a fair 
chance: but, according to the revqrend West- 
minster divines, though conviction must precede 

conversion, it is very far from always implying it.* 

* * i^ *«-*-» * 

* This letter was evidently written under the distress of 
mind occasioned by our poets separation from "Mrs. Burns. ' 

2 • ' E 



( 26 ) 

No. 9. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 

Ayrshire, 1786*. 

Madam, 

J. AM truly sorry I was not at home yes- 
terday, when I was so much honoured with your 
order for my copies, and incomparably more by 
the handsome compliments you are pleased to pay 
my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded that 
there is not any class of mankind so feelingly alive 
to the titillations of applause as the sons of Par- 
nassus ; nor is it easy to conceive how the heart of 
a poor bard dances with rapture, when those, 
whose character in life gives them a right to be 
polite judges, honour him with their approbation. 
Had you been thoroughly acquainted with me, 
Madam, you could not have touched my darling 
heart-chord more sweetly than by noticing my 
attempts to celebrate your illustrious ancestor, 
the Saviour of his Country. 

'Great, patriot hero ! ill-requited chief !' 

The first book I met with in my early years, 
which I perused with pleasure, was, The Life of 
Hannibal ; the next was. The History of Sir 
William Wallace : for several of my earlier years 
I had few other authors; and many a solitary 
hour have I stole out, after the laborious voca- 
tions of the day, to shed a tear over their glori- 
ous, but unfortunate, stories. In those boyish 



( 27 ) 

days I remember, in particular, being struck with 
that part of Wallace's story where these lines 
occur — 

^ Syne to the Leglen-wood, when it was late^ 
' To make a silent and a safe retreat/ 

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day 
my line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen 
of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen-wood, 
wdth as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim 
did to Loretto ; and, as I explored every den and 
dell where I could suppose my heroic countryman 
to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a 
rhymer) that my heart glowed with a wish to be 
able to make a song on him in some measure 
equal to his merits. 



omg 



No. 10. 

TO MRS. STEWART, OF STAIR. 

1786- 
Madam, 

1 HE hurry of my preparations for g 
abroad has hindered me from performing my pro- 
mise so soon as I intended. I have here sent you 
a parcel of songs, &c. which never made their ap- 
pearance, except to a friend or two at most. Per- 
haps some of them may be no great entertainment 
to you, but of that I am far from being an ade- 
quate judge. The song, to the tune of Ettrick 
ha7iks, you will easily see the impropriety of ex 



( S8 ) 

posing much, even in manuscript. I think, my« 
self, it has some merit; both as a tolerable 
description of one of nature's sweetest scenes, a 
July evening; and one of the finest pieces of na- 
ture's workmanship, the finest indeed we know 
any thing of, an amiable, beautiful young woman : 
but I have no common friend to procure me that 
permission, without which 1 w^ould not dare to 
spread the copy. 

1 am quite aware. Madam, what task the world 
would assign me in this letter. The obscure bard, 
when any of the great condescend to take notice 
of him, should heap the altar with the incense of 
flattery. Their high ancestry, their own great 
and godlike qualities and actions, should be re- 
counted wdth the most exaggerated description. 
This, Madam, is a task for which I am altogether 
unfit. Besides a certain disqualifying pride of 
heart, I know nothing of your connections in life, 
and have no access to where your real character is 
to be found — the company of your compeers : and 
more, I am afraid that even the most refined 
adulation is by no means the road to your good 
opinion. 

One feature of your character I shall ever with 
grateful pleasure remember; the reception I got 
when I had the honour of waiting on you at.Stair. 
I am little acquainted with politeness, but 1 know 
a good deal of benevolence of temper, and good- 
ness of heart. Surely did those in exalted stations 
know hov/ happy they could make some classes 
of their inferiors by condescension and affability, 
they would never stand so high, measuring out 



( 29 ) 

with every look the height of their elevation, but 
condescend as sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of Stair * 



No. 11. 
DR. BLACKLOCK TO THE REV. G. LAWRIE. _ 

Reverend and dear Sir, 

X OUGHT to have acknowledged your 
favour long ago, not only as a testimony of your 
kind remembrance, but as it gave me an oppor- 
tunity of sharing one of the finest, and, perhaps, 
one of the most genuine entertainments, of which 
the human mind is susceptible. A number of 
avocations retarded my progress in reading the 
poems; at last, however, I have finished that 
pleasing perusal. jNIany instances have I seen of 
nature's force and beneficence, exerted under nu- 
merous and formidable disadvantages; but none 
equal to that with which you have been kind 
enough to present me. — There is a pathos and 
delicacy in his serious poems ; a vein of wit and 
humour in those of a more festive turn, which 
cannot be too much admired, nor too warmly ap- 
proved ; and I think I shall never open the book 
without feeling my astonishment renewed and in- 
creased. It was my wish to have expressed my 
approbation in verse : but whether from declining 
life or a temporary depression of spirits, it is at 

* The song inclosed is * The Lass of Ballochmyle.'— See 
poems, p. 498. 



( 30 ) 

present out of my power to accomplish that agree- 
able intention. 

Mr. Stewart, professor of morals in this univer- 
sity, had formerly read me three of tlie poems, 
and I had desired him to get my name inserted 
among the subscribers ; but whether this was done 
or not 1 never could learn. 1 have little inter- 
course with Dr. Blair, but will take care to have 
the poems communicated to him by the interven- 
tion of some mutual friend. It has been told me 
by a gentleman, to whom I showed the perform- 
ances, and who sought a copy with diligence and 
ardour, that the whole impression is already ex- 
hausted. It were therefore much to be wished, 
for the sake of the young man, that a second 
edition, more numerous than the former, could 
immediately be printed ; as it appears certain that 
its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of the author's 
friends, might give it a more universal circulation 
than any thing of the kind, which has been pub- 
lished within my memory.* 

* The reader will perceive that this is the letter, which pro- 
duced the determination of our bard to give up his scheme of 
going to the West Indies, and to try the fate of a new edition 
of his poems in Edinburgh. A copy of this letter was sent by 
Mr. Lawrie to Mr. G. Hamilton, and by him communicated to 
Burns, among whose papers it was found. 



( 31 ) 

No. 12. 
FROM SIR JOHN WHITEFORD. 

Edinburgh, Mh December j 1786. 

Sir, 

I RECEIVED your letter a few days 
ago. I do not pretend to much interest, but 
what I have I shall be ready to exert hi procuring 
the attainment of any object you have in vicAv. 
Your character as a man, (forgive my reversing 
your order) as well as a poet, entitle you, I think, 
to the assistance of every inhabitant of Ayrshire. 
I have been told you wished to be made a guager ; 
I submit it to your consideration, whether it 
would not be more desirable, if a sum could be 
raised by subscription for a second edition of your 
poems, to lay it out in the stocking of a small 
farm. I am persuaded it would be a line of life 
much more agreeable to your feelings, and in the 
end more satisfactory. When you have consider- 
ed this, let me know, and whatever you determine 
upon, I will endeavour to promote as far as my 
abilities will permit. With compliments to my 
friend, the doctor, 

I am, your friend and well wisher, 

JOHN WHITEFORD. 

P. S. I shall take it as a favour when you at 
any time send me a new production. 



( 32 ) 

No. 13. 
FROM 



22d December, 1786, 

Deau Sir, 

A LAST week received a letter from Dr. 
Blaeklock, in which he expresses a desire of seeing 
you. I write this to you that you may lose no 
time in waiting upon him, should you not yet 
have seen him. 

I rejoice to hear, from all corners, of your rising 
fame, and I wish and expect it may tower still 
higher by the new publication. But, as a friend, 
1 warn you to prepare to meet with your share of 
detraction and envy — a train, that always accom- 
pany great men. For your comfort I am in great 
hopes that the number of your friends and ad- 
mirers will increase, and that you have some 
chance of ministerial, or even * * * * patronage. 
Now, my friend, such rapid success is very un- 
common, and do you think yourself in no danger 
of suffering by applause and a full purse? Re- 
member Solomon's advice, which he spoke from 
experience, 'stronger is he that conquers,' &c. 
Keep fast hold of your rural simplicity and purity, 
like Telemachus, by Mentor's aid in Calypso's isle, 
or even in that of Cyprus. I hope you have also 
Minerva with you. I need not tell you how" 
much a modest dif?idence and invincible temper- 
ance adorn the most shining talents, and elevate 



( 33 ) 

the mind, and exalt and refine the imagination 
even of a poet. 

I hope you will not imagine I speak from sus- 
picion or evil report. I assure you I speak from 
love and good report, and good opinion, and a 
strong desire to see you shine as much in the sun- 
shine as you have done in the sh^de ; and in the 
practice as you do in the theory of virtue. This 
is my prayer in return for your elegant composi- 
tion in verse. All here join in compliments and 
good wishes for your further prosperity. 



No. 14. 
TO MR. CHALIMERS. 

Edinhurghy 27th December ^ 1786. 

My dear Friend, 

I CONFESS I have sinned the sin for 
which there is hardly any forgiveness, ingratitude 
to friendship, in not writing you sooner; but of 
all men living 1 had intended to send you an en- 
tertaining letter, and by all the plodding, stupid, 
powers, that in nodding, conceited, majesty pre- 
side over the dull routine of business — a heavily- 
solemn oath this ! I am, and have been, ever since 
I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write a letter of 
humour as to write a commentary on the Reve- 
lations. 



( ^4 ) 

To make you some amends for what, before yon 
reach this paragraph, you will have suffered, I in^ 
close you two poems I have carded and spun since 
I past Glenbuck. One blank in the address to 

Edinburgh, *Fair B ' is the heavenly Miss 

Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose 
house I have had the honour to be more than 
once. There has not been any thing nearly like 
her, in all the combination of beauty, grace, and 
goodness, the great Creator has formed, since 
Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence. 

I have sent you a parcel of subscription-bills, 
and have written to Mr. Ballantine and Mr. Aiken 
to call on you for some of them, if they want them. 
My direction is, care of Andrew Bruce, merchant^ 
Bridge-street. 



No. 15. 
TO THE EARL OF EGLINTON. 

Edinburgh, January, 1787« 

My Lord, 

iVs I have but slender pretensions to 
philosophy, I cannot rise to the exalted ideas of a 
citizen of the world ; but have all those national 
prejudices, which I believe glow pecuharly strong 
in the breast of a Scotchman. There is scarcely 
any thing, to which I am so feelingly alive as the 
honour and welfare of my country ; and, as a poet, 
I have no higher enjoyment than singing her sons 
and daughters. Fate had cast my station in the 



( 35 ) 

veriest shades of life ; but never did a heart pant 
more ardently, than mine, to be distinguished : 
though, till very lately, I looked in vain on every 
side for a ray of light. It is easy then to guess 
how much J. was gratified with the countenance 
and approbation of one of my country's most illus- 
trious sons, when Mr. Wauehope called on me 
yesterday on the part of your lordship. Your 
munificence, my lord, certainly deserves my very 
grateful acknowledgments ; but your patronage is 
a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings. I am 
not master enough of the etiquette of life to know, 
whether there be not some impropriety in trou- 
bling your lordship with my thanks, but my heart 
whispered me to do it. From the emotions of my 
inmost soul I do it. Selfish ingratitude I hope I 
am incapable of; and mercenary servility, I trust, 
I shall ever have as much honest pride as to detest 



No, 16. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, loth January, 1787. 

Madam, 

Yours of the 9th current, which I am 
this moment honoured with, is a deep reproach 
to me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell vou the 
real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib— 
I wished to have written to Dr. Moore before I 
wrote to you : but, though every day since I re- 
ceived yours of Dec. 30th, the idea, the wish, to 



( 36 ) 

write to him has constantly pressed on mj 
thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set about 
it. I know his fame and character, and I am one 
of * the sons of little men.' To write him a mere 
matter-of-fact affair, like a merchant's order, would 
be disgracing the little character I have; and to 
write the author of The View of Society and 
Manners, a letter of sentiment-— I declare every 
artery runs cold at the thought. I shall try, 
however, to write to him to-morrow or next day. 
His kind interposition in my behalf I have already 
experienced, as a gentleman waited on me the 
other day, on the part of lord Eglinton, with ten 
guineas, by way of subscription for two copies of 
my next edition. 

The word you object to in the mention I have 
made of my glorious countryman and your im- 
mortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from Thom- 
son : but it does not strike me as an improper 
epithet. I distrusted my own judgment on your 
finding fault with it, and applied for the opinion 
of some of the literati here, who honour me with 
their critical strictures, and they all allow it to be 
proper. The song you ask I cannot recollect, and 
I have not a copy of it. I have not composed 
any thing on the great Wallace, except what you 
have seen in print ; and the inclosed, which I will 
print in this edition.^ You will see I have men- 
tioned some others of the name. When 1 com- 
posed my Vision, long ago, I had attempted a 
description of Koyle; of which the additional 



* Stanzas in T/w Vision, beginning ""By stately tower or 
palace fair/ and ending with the first Duan. tSee Poems', p. 88. 



5; 


^ 


^ 


a 




~ 








._( 


?K 


~_ 










^ 


i^ 



N :4 



$: s 




( 37 ) 

stanzas are a part, as it originally stood. My 
heart glows with a wish to be able to do justice 
to the merits of the Saviour of his Country^ which 
sooner or later 1 shall at least attempt. 

You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with 
my prosperity as a poet : alas, Madam, I know 
myself and the world too well. I do not mean 
any airs of affected modesty ; I am willing to be- 
lieve that my abilities deserved some notice ; but 
in a most enlightened, informed age and nation, 
when poetry is and has been the study of men of 
the first natural genius, aided with all the powers 
of polite learning, polite books, and polite com- 
pany — to be dragged forth to the full glare of 
learned and polite observation, with all my im- 
perfections of awkward rusticity, and crude un- 
polished ideas on my head — I assure you. Madam, 
I do not dissemble when I tell you, I tremble for 
the consequences. The novelty of a poet in my 
obscure situation, without any of those advantages 
which are reckoned necessary for that character, 
at least at this time of day, has raised a partial 
tide of public notice, which has borne me to a 
height, where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, 
my abilities are inadequate to support me; and 
too surely do 1 see that time when the same tide 
will leave me, and recede perhaps as far below the 
mark of truth. 

*• * Tif ^- -JiJ- ^ * i!f 

Your patronising me and interesting yourself 
in my fame and character as a poet, I rejoice in ; 
it exalts me in my ow^n idea; and whether you 
can or cannot aid me in my subscription is a trifle. 
Has a paltry subscription-bill any charms to the 



{ 38 ) 

heart of a bard, compared with the patronage of 
the descendant of the immortal Wallace? 



Sir, 



No. 17. 
TO DR. JNIOORPl 

1787. 



Mrs. DUNT.OP has been so kind as 
to send me extracts of letters she has had from 
you, where you do the rustic bard the honour of 
noticing him and his works. Those Avho have felt 
the anxieties and soHcitiides of authorship can only 
know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in such 
a manner, by judges of the first character. Your 
criticisms, Sir, I receive with reverence; only I 
am sorry they mostly came too late: a peccant 
passage or two that I would certainly have altered 
w^ere gone to the press. 

The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far 
the greatest part of those even who are authors of 
repute, an unsubstantial dream. For my part, 
my first ambition was, and still my strongest wish 
is, to please my compeers, the rustic inmates of 
the hamlet, while ever-changing language and 
manners shall allow me to be relished and under- 
stood. I am very willing to admit that I have 
some poetical abilities ; and as few if any writers, 
either moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted 
with the classes of mankind among whom I have 
chiefly mingled, I may have seen men and man- 



X 



( 39 ) 

ners in a different phasis from what is common, 
which may assist originality of thought. Still 1' 
know very well the novelty of my character has 
by far the greatest share in the learned and polite 
notice I have lately had : and in a language where 
Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and 
Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear ; where Thom- 
son and Beattie have painted the landscape, and 
Lyttleton and Collins described the heart, I am 
not vain enough to hope for distinguished poetic 
fame. 



Sir, 



No. 18. 
FROM DR. MOORE. 

Clifford-street, January 23d , 1787. 



X HAVE just received your letter, by 
which I find I have reason to complain of my 
friend Mrs. Dunlop, for transmitting to you ex- 
tracts from my letters to her, by much too freely 
and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must 
forgive her, however, in consideration of her good 
intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the 
freedom I use with certain expressions, in con- 
sideration of my admiration of the poems in gene- 
ral. If I may judge of the author's disposition 
from his works, with all the other good qualities 
of a poet, he has not the irritable temper ascribed 
to that race of men by one of their own number, 
whom you have the happiness to resemble in ease 



( 40 ) 

and curious felicity of expression. Indeed the 
poetical beauties, however original and brilliant, 
and lavishly scattered, are not all I admire in your 
works ; the love of your native country, that feel- 
ing sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and 
the independent spirit which breathes through the 
whole, give me a most favourable impression of 
the poet, and have made me often regret that I 
did not see the poems, the certain effect of which 
would have been my seeing the attthor, last sum- 
mer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have 
been for many years. 

I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement 
you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you pecu- 
liarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr. Blair, who 
I am informed interests himself very much for 
you. I beg to be remembered to him; nobody 
can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than 
I have, which, independent of the worth of his 
character, would be kept alive by the memory of 
our common friend, the late Mr. George B e. 

Before I received your letter, I sent inclosed in 

a letter to a sonnet by Miss Williams, a 

young poetical lady which she wrote on reading 
your Mountain Daisy; perhaps it may not dis- 
please you.* 

I have been trying to add to the number of 
your subscribers, but find many of my acquaint- 

* The sonnet is as follows : 

While soon * the garden's flaunting flowers' decay. 

And scatter'd on the earth neglected lie. 
The ' Mountain Daisy/ cherish'd by the ray 

A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. 



( 41 ) 

ance are already among them. I have only to 
add, that with every sentiment of esteem, and the 
most cordial good wishes, 
I am, 
Your obedient humble servant, 
J. MOORE. 



No. 19. 
TO DR. MOORE. 

Edinburgh, 1 5th February, 1787. 

Reverend Sir, 

X ARDON my seeming neglect in delay- 
ing so long to acknowledge the honour you have 
done me, in your kind notice of me, January 2l3d. 
Kot many months ago I knew no other employ- 
ment than following the plough, nor could boast 
any thing higher than a distant acquaintance with 
a country clergyman. Mere greatness never em- 
barrasses me; I have nothing to ask from the 
great, and I do not fear their judgment; but 

Ah, like that lonely flower the poet rose ! 

'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale ! 
He felt each storm that on the mountain blows. 

Nor ever knew the shelter of the vale. 
By genius in her native vigour nurst. 

On nature with impassion'd look he gazed ; 
Then through the cloud of adverse fortune burst. 

Indignant, and in light unborrow'd blazed. 
Scotia ! from rude affliction shield thy bard, 
His heaven-tayght numbers Fame herself will guard. 

G 



( 42 ) 

genius, polished by learning, and at its proper 
point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of 
late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its 
approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming 
modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some 
merit I do not deny ; but I see with frequent 
wringings of heart, that the novelty of my charac- 
ter, and the honest national prejudice of my 
countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether 
untenable to my abilities. 

For the honour INIiss. W. has done me, please, 
Sir, return her in my name my most grateful 
thanks. I have more than once thought of pay- 
ing her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the 
idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before 
heard of her ; but the other day I got her poems, 
which for several reasons, some belonging to the 
head, and others the offspring of the heart, give 
me a great deal of pleasure. I have little preten- 
sions to critic lore ; there are I think two charac- 
teristic features in her poetry — the unfettered wild 
flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombix 
tenderness of * time settled sorrow.' 

I only know what pleases me, often without 
being able to tell why. 



( 43 ) 

No. 20. 
FROM DR. JMOORE. 

Clifford-street, 28th February, 1787. 

Dear Sir, 

jL our letter of the loth, gave me a 
great deal of pleasure. It is not surprising that 
you improve in correctness and taste, considering 
where you have been for some time past. — And 1 
dare swear there is no danger of your admitting 
any polish which might weaken the vigour of 
your native powers. 

I am glad to perceive that you disdain the 
nauseous affectation of decrying your own merit 
as a poet, an affectation which is displayed with 
most ostentation by those who have the greatest 
share of self-conceit, and which only adds unde- 
ceiving falsehood to disgusting vanity. For you 
to deny the merit of your poems would be arraign- 
ing the fixed opinion of the public. 

As the new edition of my View of Society is not 
yet ready, I have sent you the former edition, 
which I beg you wall accept as a small mark of 
my esteem. It is sent by sea to the care of Mr. 
Creech, and along with these four volumes for 
yourself I have also sent my Medical Sketches 
in one volume, for my friend Mrs. Dunlop, of 
Dunlop : this you will be so obliging as to trans- 
mit, or if you chance to pass soon by Dunlop, to 
give to to her. 



( 44 ) 

I am happy to hear that your subscription is so 
ample, and shall rejoice at every piece of good 
fortune that befalls you. For you are a very 
great favourite in my family; and this is a higher 
compliment than perhaps you are aware of. It 
includes almost all the professions, and of course 
is a proof that your writings are adapted to various 
tastes and situations. My youngest son, who is 
at Winchester school, writes to me, that he is 
translating some stanzas of your Hallow E'en into 
Latin verse, for the benefit of his comrades. This 
union of taste partly proceeds, no doubt, from the 
cement of Scottish partiality, vvith which they are 
all somewhat tinctured. Even your translator^ 
who left Scotland too early in life for recollection, 
is not without it. 

I remain with great sincerity. 
Your obedient servant, 

J. MOORE. 



No. 21. 
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

Edinburgh, 1787. 

My Lord, 

1 WANTb'D to purchase a profile of 
your lordship, which I was told was to be got in 
town ; but I am truly sorry to see that a blunder- 
ing painter has spoiled a * human face divine.* 



( 45 ) 

The enclosed stanzas I intended to have written 
below a picture or profile of your lordship, could 
I have been so happy as to procure one with any 
thing of a likeness. 

As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted 
to have something like a material object for my 
gratitude; I wanted to have it in my power to 
say to a friend, there is my noble patron, my 
generous benefactor. Allow me, my lord, to 
publish these verses. I conjure your lordship by 
the honest throe of gratitude, by the generous 
wish of benevolence, by all the powers and feel- 
ings which compose the magnanimous mind, do 
not deny me this petition.* I owe much to your 
lordship ; and what has not in some other instances 
always been the case with me, the weight of the 
obligation is a pleasing load. I trust I have a 
heart as independent as your lordship's, than 
which I can sav nothing: more; and I would not 
be beholden to favours that would crucify my 
feelings. Your dignified character in life, and 
manner of supporting that character, are flattering 
to my pride ; and I would be jealous of the purity 
of my grateful attachment, where I was under 
the patronage of one of the much favoured sons of 
fortune. 

Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, 
particularly when they were names dear to fame, 
and illustrious in their country ; allow me then, 
my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic 



* It does not appear tliat the earl granted this request, nor 
have the verses alluded to been found among the manuscripts. 



( 46 ) 

merit, to tell the world how much I have the 
honour to be. 

Your lordship's highly-indebted. 
And ever grateful, humble servant. 



No. 22. 
TO THE EAKL OF BUCHAN. 

jMy Lord, 

1 HE honour your lordship has done me, 
by your notice and advice, in yours of the 1st. 
instant, I shall ever gratefully remember. 

' Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast^ 
' They best can give it v/ho deserve it most.' 

Your lordship touches the darling chord of my 
heart, when you advise me to fire my muse at 
Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I wish for 
nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage 
through my native country ; to sit and muse on 
those once hard-contended fields, v/here Caledonia, 
rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through 
broken ranks to victory and fame; and catching 
the inspiration to pour the deathless name in song. 
But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic 
reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phan- 
tom strides across my imagination, and pronounces 
these emphatic words, / vcisdoni, dwell imt/i pru- 
dence. 



( 47 ) 

This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return 
to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse 
in my wonted way at the plough-tail. — Still, my 
lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gra- 
titude to that dear loved country in which I boast 
my birth, and gratitude to those her distinguished 
sons, who have honoured me so much with their 
patronage and approbation, shall, w^hile stealing 
through my humble shades, ever distend my 
bosom, and at times draw forth the swelling tear. 



Ext Property m favour of Mr. Robert Burns to erect and 
keep up a Headstone, in memory of Poet Ferguson, 1787. 



Session-house, within the Kirk of Cannongate, 
the twenty second day of Fchriiaryy one 
thousand seven hundred eighty seven years. 

Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and Kirk 
Yard funds of Cannongate. 

W HIGH day, the treasurer to the said 
funds produced a letter from jNIr. Robert Burns, 
of date the sixth current, which was read and ap- 
pointed to be engrossed in their sederunt book, 
and of which letter the tenor follows. — *To the 
honourable baillies of Cannongate, Edinburgh. 
Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains 
of Robert Ferguson, the so justly celebrated poet, 
a man whose talents for ages to come will do 
honour to our Caledonian name, lie in your 



( 48 ) 

church-yard among the ignoble dead, unnoticed 
and unknown. 

* Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers 
of Scottish song, when they wish to shed a tear 
over the "narrow house' of the bard who is no 
more, is surely a tribute due to Ferguson's me- 
mory; a tribute I wish to have the honour of 
paying. 

' I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit me 
to lay a simple stone over his reverend ashes, to 
remain an unalienable property to his deathless 
fame. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your 
very humble servant, fsic suhscrihitur ) 

KOBERT BURNS.' 

Thereafter the said managers, in consideration 
of the laudable and disinterested motion of Mr. 
Burns, and the propriety of his request, did, and 
hereby do, unanimously, grant power and liberty 
to the said Robert Burns, to erect a headstone at 
the grave of the said Robert Ferguson, and to 
keep up and preserve the same to his memory in 
all time coming. Extracted forth of the records 
of the managers by 

WILLIAM SPROTT, Clerk. 



( 49 ) 

No. 24. 

TO ^— 

My dear Sir, 

JL OU may think, and too justly, that I 
am a selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so 
many repeated instances of kindness from you, 
and yet never putting pen to paper to say, thank 
you ; but if you knew what a devil of a life my 
conscience has led me on that account, your good 
heart would think yourself too much avenged. 
By the bye, there is nothing in the whole fi-ame 
of man, which seems to me so unaccountable as 
that thing called conscience. Had the trouble- 
some yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a 
mischief, he might be of use ; but at the beginning 
of the business, his feeble efforts are to the work- 
ings of passion as the infant frosts of an autumnal 
morning to the unclouded fervour of the rising 
sun : and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of 
the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter 
native consequences of folly, in the very vortex 
of our horrors, up starts conscience and harrows 
us with the feelings of the d^^***. 

I have inclosed you, by way of expiation, some 
verse and prose, that if they merit a place in your 
truly entertaining miscellany, you are w^elcome to. 
The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott sent it 
me. 

3 H 



{ 50 ) 

The Inscription on the stone is as follows : 

HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSON, POET. 

Born September 5th, 1751--Died l6th October, 1774. 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay> 

' No storied urn, nor animated bust,* 
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 

To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

On the other side of the stone is as follows: 

* By special grant of the managers to Kobert 
Barns, who erected this stone, this burial-place is 
^o remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert 
Ferguson/ 



No. 25, 
EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM 

^th March, 1787. 

JL AM truly happy to know you have 
found a friend in *********; his patronage of you 
does him great honour. He is truly a good man. 
By far the best I ever knew, or perhaps ever sliall 
know in this world. But I must not speak all I 
think of him, lest I should be thought partial. 

So you have obtained liberty from the magis- 
trates to erect a stone over Ferguson's grave ? I do 
not doubt it; such things have been, as Shakes^ 
pcare says, * in the olden-time.' 

' The Poet's fate is here in emblem shewn, 
' He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone.' 



( 51 ) 

It is I believe upon poor Butler's tomb that this 
is written. But how many brothers of Parnassus, 
as well as poor Butler and poor Ferguson, have 
asked for bread, and been served with the same 
sauce. 

The magistrates ^ar^j you liberty, did they ; Oh, 
generous magistrates ! ****** -^ celebrated 
over the three kingdoms for his public spirit, gives 
a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's 
memory ! most generous ! ******* once 
upon a time gave that same poet the mighty sum 
of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But 
then it must be considered that the poet was at 
this time absolutely starving, and besought his 
aid with all the earnestness of hunger. And over 
and above he received a ******* * worth 
at least one third of the value, in exchange, but 
w^hich I believe the poet afterwards very ungrate- 
fully expunged. 

Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing 
you in Edinburgh, and, as my stay will be for 
eight or ten days, I Vvish you or * * * * '^ would 
take a snug well aired bed-room for me, where I 
may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morn- 
ing cup of tea. But by all accounts it will be a 
matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless 
your company is bespoke a week before hand. 
There is a great rumour here concerning your 

great intimacy with the Duchess of , and 

other ladies of distinction. I am really told that 

* cards to invite fly by thousands each night ;' and 
if you had one, I suppose there would also be 

* bribes to your old secretary.' It seems you are 
resolved to make hay w^hile the sun shines, and 



( 52 ) 

avoid if possible the fate of poor Ferguson, * * * 
***-«- ^ * * * « * Qucerenda pccunia primum 
est^ virtus post nummos, is a good maxim to thrive 
by : you seemed to despise it while in this country, 
but probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has 
taught you better sense. 

Pray are you yet engraving as well as print- 
ing ? — are you yet seized 

' With itch of picture in the frontj 

' With bays and wicked rhyme upon 't ?' 

But I must give up this trifling and attend to 
matters that more concern myself; so as the Aber- 
deen wit says, Adieu dryly, we sal drink phan 
we meet.^ 



No. 26. 
TO MRS DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787. 

Madam, 

A READ your letter wdth watery eyes, 
A little, very little while ago, / had scarce a 
friend but the stubborn priae of my own bosom ; 
now I am distinguished, patronized, befriended 
by you. Your friendly advices, 1 will not give 
them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with 

* The writer is mistaken in supposing the magistrates of 
Edinburgh had any share in the transaction respecting the 
monument erected for Ferguson : this, it is evident, passed 
between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Cannongate. 



( ^^ ) 

reverence. I have made some small alterations in 
what I before had printed. I have the advice of 
some very judicious friends among the literati 
here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary 
to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. 
The noble earl of Glencairn, to whom 1 owe more 
than to any man, does me the honour of giving 
me his strictures : his hints, with respect to im- 
propriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. 

You kindly interest yourself in my future views 
and prospects ; there I can give you no light. It 
is all 

* Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun 

' W^as roll'd together, or had try'd his beams 

' Athwart the gloom profound.' 

The appellation of a Scottish bard, is by far my 
highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my 
most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scot- 
tish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I 
have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, 
unplagued with the routine of business, for which 
heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make lei- 
surely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on 
the fields of her battles ; to wander on the ro- 
mantic banks of her rivers ; and to muse by the 
stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honour- 
ed abodes of her heroes. 

But these are all Utopian thoughts : I have 
dallied long enough with life ; 'tis time to be in 
earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care 
for; and some other bosom ties perhaps equally 
tender. Where the individual only suffers by the 
consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indo- 
lence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay shining 



( 54 ) 

abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half 
sanctify a heedless character ; but where God and 
nature have entrusted the welfare of others to his 
care; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are 
dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or 
strangely lost to reflection, whom these con- 
nections will not rouse to exertion. 

I guess that I shall clear between two and three 
hundred pounds by my authorship; with that 
sum 1 intend, so far as I may be said to have any 
intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the 
plough, and if I can meet with a lease by which 
I can live, to commence farmer. I do not intend 
to give up poetry: being bred to labour secures 
me independence, and the muses are my chief, 
sometimes have been my only, enjoyment. If my 
practice second my resolution, I shall have prin- 
cipally at heart the serious business of life ; but 
while following my plough, or building up my 
shocks, I shall cast a leisure glance to that dear, 
that only feature of my character, which gave me 
the notice of my country, and the patronage of a 
Wallace. 

Thus, honoured madam, I have given you the 
bard, his situation, and his views, native as they 
are in his own bosom. 



( 55 ) 

No. 27. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, ^ 5th April, 1787. 

Madam, 

M HERE is an affectation of gratitude 
which I dislike. The periods of Johnson and the 
pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For 
my part, madam, I trust I have too much pride 
for servility, and too little prudence for selfishness. 
I have this moment broken open your letter, but 

* Rude am I in speech, 
' And therefore little can I grace my cause 
' In speaking for myself — ' 

SO I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches 
and hunted figures. I shall just lay my hand on 
my heart, and say, I hope I shall ever have the 
truest, the warmest, sense of your goodness. 

I come abroad, in print, for certain, on Wed- 
nesday. Your orders I shall punctually attend 
to; only by the way, I must tell you that I was 
paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss W.'s copies, 
through the medium of Commissioner Cochrane 
in this place, but that we can settle when I have 
the honour of waiting on you. 

Dr. Smith* was just gone to London the 
morning before I received your letter to him. 

* Dr. Adam Smith. 



( 56 ) 



No. 28. 
TO DR. .MOORE. 

Ed'mhirghy 23d April, 1787. 

I RECEIVED tlie books, and sent the 
one you mentioned to Mrs. Diinlop. I aai ill 
skilled in beating the coverts of imagination for 
metaphors of gratitude. I thank you, sir, for the 
honour you have done me; and to my latest hour 
will warmly remember it. To be highly pleased 
with your book is wiiat I have in common with 
the world ; but to regard these volumes as a mark 
of the author's friendly esteem, is a still more 
supreme gratification. 

1 leave P^dinburgh in the course of ten days or 
a fortnight, and, after a few pilgrimages over 
some of the classic ground of Caledonia, Covcden 
Knowes, Banks of Yarroxi\ Tzveed, S<,c. I shall 
return to miy rural shades, in all likelihood never 
more to quit them. I have formed many inti- 
macies and friendships here, but I am afraid they 
are all of too tender a construction to bear carriage 
a hundred and fifty miles. To the rich, the great, 
the fashionable, the polite, I have no equivalent 
to offer ; and 1 am afraid my meteor appearance 
will by no means entitle me to a settled corres- 
pondence with any of you, who are the permanent 
lights of genius and literature. 

My most respectful compliments to INIiss W. 
If once this tangent flight of mine were over, and 



( 57 ) 

I were returned to my wonted leisurely • motion 
in my old circle, 1 may probably endeavour to 
return her poetic compliment in kind. 



No. 29. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 

TO MRS. DUXLOP. 

Edinburgh, 30th April, 1787. 

. OUR criticisms, madam, I understand 



very well, and could have wished to have pleased 
you better. You are right in your guess that I 
am not very amenable to counsel. Poets, much 
my superiors, have so flattered those who pos- 
sessed the adventitious qualities of wealth and 
power, that I am determined to flatter no created 
being, either in prose or in verse. 

I set as little by *****, lords, clergy, critics, (Sec. 
as all these respective gentry do by my hardship. 
I know what I may expect from the world, by 
and bye ; illiberal abuse, and perhaps contemptu- 
ous neglect. 

I am happy, madam, that some of my own 
favourite pieces are distinguished by your particu- 
lar approbation. For my Dream, w^iich has un- 
fortunately incurred your loyal displeasure, I hope 
in four wrecks, or less, to have the honour of ap- 
pearing at Dunlop, in its defence, in person. 

I 



( 58 ) 

No. 30. 
EXTRACTS* 

Edinburgh, April ^th, 1787' 

As I have seen a good deal of human life 
in Edinburgh, a great many characters which are 
new, to one bred up in the shades of life as I have 
been, I am determined to take down my remarks 
on the spot. Gray observes, in a letter to Mr. 
Palgrave, that ' half a word fixed, upon or near 
the spot, is worth a cart load of recollection.' I 
don't know how it is with the world in general, 
but with me, making my remarks, is by no means 
a solitary pleasure. I want some one to laugh 
with me, some one to be grave with me, some 
one to please me and help my discrimination with 
his or her own remark ; and at times, no doubt, 
to admire my acuteness and penetration. The 
world are so busied with selfish pursuits, ambition, 
vanity, interest, or pleasure, that very few think 
it worth their while to make any observation on 
what passes around them, except vvhere that ob- 
servation is a sucker, or branch of the darling plant 
they are rearing in their fancy. Nor am I sure, 
notwithstanding all the sentimental flights of 
novel-writers, and the sage philosophy of moral- 
ists, whether we are capable of so intimate and 

* The following are extracts from a book which our author 
procured in the spring of 1787, foi* the purpose, as iie himscli' 
informs us, of recording in it whatever seemed worthy of ob=^ 
servation. 



( 59 ) 

cordial a coalition of friendship, as that one man 
may pour out his bosom, his every thought and 
floating fancy, his very inmost soul, with unre- 
served confidence to another, without hazard of 
losing part of that respect which man deserves 
from man ; or, from the unavoidable imperfections 
attending human nature, of one day repenting his 
confidence. 

For these reasons, I am determined to make 
these pages my confidant. 1 will sketch every 
character that any way strikes me, to the best of 
my power, with unshrinking justice. I will in- 
sert anecdotes, and take down remarks, in the old 
law phrase, zvithout feiid or favour. — ^Vhere I hit 
on any thing clever, my own applause will in 
some measure feast my vanity ; and, begging 
Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, I think a lock 
and key a security, at least equal, to the bosom 
of any friend whatever. 

My own private story likewise, my love-adven- 
tures, my rambles ; the frowns and smiles of for- 
tune on my hardship; my poems and fragments 
that must never see the light, shall be occasionally 
inserted. — In short, never did four shillings pur- 
chase so much friendship, since confidence went 
first to market, or honesty was set up to sale. 

To these seemingly invidious, but too just ideas 
of human friendship, 1 would cheerfully make one 
exception — the connection between two persons of 
different sexes, when their interests are united 
and absorbed by the tie of love — 

When thought meets thought, ei'e from the lips it part. 
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 



( 60) 

There, confidence, confidence that exalts them 
the more in one another's opinion, that endears 
them the more to each other's hearts, unreservedly 
' reigns and revels.' But this is not my lot, and 
in my situation, if I am wise, (which by the bye 
I have no great chance of being), my fate should 
be cast with the Psalmist's sparrow, 'to watch 
alone on the house tops.' — Oh, the pity ! 



There are few of the sore evils under the sun, 
give me more uneasiness and chagrin, than the 
comparison how a man of genius, nay, of avowed 
worth, is received every where, with the reception 
which a mere ordinary character, decorated with 
the trappings and futile distinctions of fortune, 
meets. I imagine a man of abilities, his breast 
glowing with honest pride, conscious that men 
are born equal, still giving honour to whom honour 
is due ; he meets at a great man's table a Squire 
something, or a Sir somebody ; he knows the 
noble landlord at heart, gives the bard, or what- 
ever he is, a share of his good wishes beyond per- 
haps any one at table : yet how will it mortify 
him to see a fellow, whose abilities would scarcely 
have made an eight-penny tailor^ and whose heart 
is not worth three farthings, meet with attention 
and notice, that are withheld from the son of 
genius and poverty ? 

The noble G has wounded me to the soul 

here, because I dearly esteem, respect, and love 
him. He shewed so much attention, engrossing 
attention, one day, to the only blockhead at table, 
(the whole company consisted of his lordship, 



( 61 ) 

dunderpate, and myself) that I was within half a 
poin: of throwing down my gage of contemptuous 
defiance ; but he shook my hand, and looked so 
benevolently good at parting. God bless him ! 
though I should never see him more, I shall love 
him until my dying day ! I am pleased to think 
I am so capable of the throes of gratitude, as I am 
miserably deficient in some other virtues. 

With 1 am more at my ease. I never re- 
spect him with humble veneration ; but when he 
Iviiidly interests himself in my welfare, or still 
more, when he descends from his pinnacle, and 
meets me on equal ground in conversation, my 
heart overflows with what is called liking. — When 
he neglects me for the mere carcase of greatness, 
or when his eye measures the difference of our 
points of elevation, I say to myself, with scarcely 
any emotion, What do I care for him, or his 
pomp either? 



Saturday, May 6th. Left Edinburgh — Lam- 
mer-muir-hills, miserably dreary in general, but 
at times very picturesque. 

Lanson-edge, a glorious view of the Merse. 
Reach Berry well. * * * The family-meeting 
with my tompagjion de voyage, very charming; 
particularly the sister. * * * 

Sunday. Went to church at Dunse. — Heard 
Dr. Bowmaker. * * * 

Monday. Coldstream — glorious river Tweed 
— clear and majestic — fine bridge — dine at Cold- 
stream, with Mr. Ainslie, and Mr. Foreman. 
Beat Mr. Foreman in a dispute about Voltaire. 



( 62) 

Drink tea at Lenel-House, with Mr, and Mrs. 
Brydone, * * * Reception extremely flattering. 
Sleep at Coldstream. 

Tuesday. Breakfast at Kelso — charming situ- 
tion of the town — fine bridge over the Tweed. 
Enchanting views and prospects on both sides of 
the river, especially on the Scotch side. -^ ^ ^ 
Visit Roxburgh Palace — fine situation of it. 
Ruins of Roxburgh Castle — a holly bush growing 
where James the second was accidently killed by 
the bursting of a cannon. A small old religious 
ruin, and a fine old garden planted by the reli- 
gious, rooted out and destroyed by a Hottentot, a 
7naitre d'hotel of the Duke's ! — Climate and soil of 
Berwickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior 
to Ayrshire — bad roads — turnip and sheep-hus- 
bandry, their great improvements. * * * Low 
markets, consequently low lands — magnificence 
of farmers and farm-houses. Come up the Tiviot, 
and up the Jed to Jedburgh to lie, and so wish 
myself good night. 

Wednesday. Breakfast with Mr. Fair. * * * 
Charming romantic situation of Jedburgh, with 
gardens and orchards, intermingled among the 
houses, and the ruins of a once magnificent cathe- 
dral. All the towns here have the appearance of 
old rude grandeur, but extremely idle — Jed a fine 
romantic little river. Dined with Capt. Ruther- 
ford, * * * return to Jedburgh. Walk up the 
Jed with some ladies to be shewn Love-lane, and 
Blackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. 
Potts, writer, and to Mr. Sommerville, the clergy- 
man of the parish, a man and a gentleman, but 
sadly addicted to punning. 



( 63 ) 

Jedburgh, Saturday. Was presented by the 
magistrates with the freedom of the town. 

Took farewell of Jedburgh with some melan- 
choly sensations. 

Monday, May \^th, Kelso. Dine with the 
farmer's club — all gentlemen talking of high mat- 
ters — each of them keeps a hunter from 301. to 
501. value, and attends the fox-hunting club in 
the country. Go out with Mr. Ker, one of the 
club, and a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, to sleep. In 
his mind and manners, Mr. Ker is astonishingly 
like my dear old friend Robert Muir — Every- 
thing in his house elegant. He offers to accom- 
pany me in my English tour. 

Tuesday. Dine with Sir Alexander Don; a 
very wet day. * * * Sleep at Mr. Ker's again, 
and set out next day for Melross — visit Dryburgh, 
a fine old ruined abbey by the way. Cross the 
Leader and come up the Tweed to Melross. 
Dine there, and visit that far-famed glorious ruin 
— Come to Selkirk up the banks of Ettrick, The 
whole country hereabouts, both on Tweed and 
Ettrick, remarkably stoney.* 

* The intentions of the poet in procuring this book, were 
very imperfectly executed. He has inserted in it few or no in- 
cidents, but several observations and reflections, of which the 
greater part that are proper for the public eye, will be found 
interwoven in his Letters. The most curious particulars in the 
book ai*e the delineations of the characters he met with. — These 
are not numerous ; but they are chiefly of persons of distinction 
in the repubUc of letters, and nothing but the delicacy and res- 
pect due to living characters, prevents us from committing them 
to the press. Though it appears that in his conversation he was 
sometimes disposed to sarcastic remarks on the men with whom 
he lived, nothing of this kind is discoverable in these more de- 



( 64 ) 

No. 31. 
TO THE REV. DR. HUGH BLAIR. 

LatvU'market, Edinburgh, 3d May, 1787- 

Rev. and much respected Sir, 

X LEAVE Edinburgh to-morrow morn- 
ing, but could not go without troubling you with 
half a line, sincerely to thank you for the kindness, 
patronage, and friendship, you have shewn me. 
I often felt the embarrassment of my singular 
situation ; drawn forth from the veriest shades of 
life to the glare of remark ; and honoured by the 
notice of those illustrious names of my country, 
whose works, while they are applauded to the end 
of time, will ever instruct and mend the heart. 
However the meteor- like novelty of my appear- 
ance in the world might attract notice, and honour 
me with the acquaintance of the permanent lights 
of genius and literature, those who are truly bene- 
factors of the immortal nature of man ; I knew 
very well, that my utmost merit was far unequal 
to the task of preserving that character when once 
the novelty was over : I have made up my mind 
that abuse, or almost even neglect, will not sur- 
prize me in my quarters. 



liberate efforts of his understanding, which, while they exhibit 
great clearness of discrimination, manifest also the wish, as well 
as the power, to bestow high and generous praise. 



( 65 ) 

I have sent you a proof impression of Beugo's- 
work for me, done on Indian paper, as a trifling 
but sincere testimony with wiiat heart-warm 
gratitude I am, &c. 



No. 32. 
FROM DR. BLAIR. 

Argyh'Square, Edinburgh, ^th May, llSl. 

Dear Sir, 

J. WAS favoured this forenoon with your 
very obliging letter, together with an impression 
of your portrait, for which I return you my best 
thanks. The success you have met with I do not 
think was beyond your merits ; and if I have had 
any small hand in contributing to it, it gives me 
great pleasure. I know no way in which literary 
persons who are advanced in years can do more 
service to the world, than in forwarding the efforts 
of rising genius, or bringing forth unknown merit 
from obscurity. I was the first person who 
brought out to the notice of the world the poems 
of Ossian ; first, by the Fragments of ancient 
Poetry, which I published, and afterwards, by 
my setting on foot the undertaking for collecting 
and pubHshing the Works of Ossian ; and I have 
always considered this as a meritorious action of 
my life. 

Your situation, as you say, was indeed very- 
singular ; and in being brought out all at onee from 

K 



( 66) 

the shades of deepest privacy to so great a share of 
public notice and observation, you had to stand a 
severe trial. I am happy that you have stood it 
so well; and, as far as I have known or heard, 
though in the midst of many temptations, without 
reproach to your character and behaviour. 

You are now I presume to retire to a more pri- 
vate walk of life ; and I trust will conduct your- 
self there with industry, prudence and honour. 
You have laid the foundation for just public 
esteem. In the midst of those employments, 
which your situation will render proper, you will 
not I hope neglect to promote that esteem, by 
cultivating your genius, and attending to such 
productions of it as may raise your character still 
higher. At the same time be not in too great a 
haste to come forward. Take time and leisure to 
improve and mature your talents. For on any 
second production you give the world, your fate, 
as a poet, will very much depend*. There is no 
doubt a gloss of novelty, which time wears off. 
As you very properly hint yourself, you are not 
to be surprized, if in your rural retreat you do 
not find yourself surrounded with that glare of 
notice and applause which here shone upon you. 
No man can be a good poet without being some- 
what of a philosopher. He must lay his account, 
that any one, who exposes himself to public ob- 
servation, will occasionally meet with the attacks 
of illiberal censure, which it is always best to over- 
look and despise. He will be inclined sometimes 
to court retreat, and to disappear from public 
view. He will not affect to shine always ; that he 
may at proper seasons come forth with more ad- 



( 67 ) 

vantage and energy. He will not think himself 
neglected if he be not always praised. I have 
taken the liberty you see of an old man to give 
advice and make reflections, which your own 
good sense will I dare say render unnecessary. 

As you mention your being just about to leave 
town, you are going, I should suppose, to Dum- 
frieshire to look at some of Mr. Miller's farms. I 
heartily wish the offers to be made you there may 
answer; as I am persuaded you will not easily 
find a more generous and better hearted pro- 
prietor to live under, than Mr. Miller. When 
you return, if you come this way, 1 will be happy 
to see you, and to know concerning your future 
plans of life. You will find me by the 22d of 
this month, not in my house in Argyle-square, 
but at a country house at Restalrig, about a mile 
east from Edinburgh near the Musselburgh road. 
Wishing you all success and prosperity, I am, 
with real regard and esteem. 

Dear Sir, Yours sincerelv, 

HUGH BLAIR. 



No. 33. 
FROM DR. MOORE. 

, Clifford-Street, May 2Sd, 1787. 

Dear Sir, 

Jl HAD the pleasure of your letter by 
Mr. Creech, and soon after he sent me the new 
edition of your poems. You seem to think it in- 



( 68 ) 

cumbent on you to send to each subscriber a 
number of copies proportionate to his subscription 
money, but you may depend upon it, few sub- 
scribers expect more than one copy whatever they 
subscribed; I must inform you however that I 
took twelve copies for those subscribers, for whose 
money you were so accurate as to send me a re- 
ceipt, and Lord EgUntoun told me he had sent 
for six copies for himself, as he wished to give five 
of them in presents. 

Some of the poems you have added in this last 
edition are very beautiful, particularly the Winter 
Night, the Address to Edinburgh, Green grow 
the Rashes, and the two songs immediately fol- 
lowing : the latter of which is exquisite. By the 
way, I imagine, you have a peculiar talent for 
such compositions, which you ought to indulge. 
No kind of poetry demands more delicacy or 
higher polishing. Horace is more admired on ac- 
count of his Odes than all his other writings. 
But nothing now added is equal to your Vision, 
and Cotter's Saturday Night. In these are united 
fine imagery, natural and pathetic description, 
witii sublimity of language and thought. It is 
evident that you already possess a great variety of 
expression and command of the English language, 
you ouglit therefore to deal more sparingly, for 
the future, in the provincial dialect — why should 
you, by using that, limit the number of your ad- 
mirers to those who understand the Scottish, 
when you can extend it to all persons of taste 
who understand the English language. In my 
opinion you should plan some larger work than 
any you have as yet attempted. I mean reflect 



( 69 ) 

upon some proper subject, and arrange the plan 
in your mind, without beginning to execute any 
part of it till you have studied most of the best 
English poets, and read a little more of history. — 
The Greek and Roman stories you can read in 
some abridgement, and soon become master of the 
most brilliant facts, which must highly delight a* 
poetical mind. You should also, and very soon 
may, become master of the heathen mythology, to 
which there are everlasting allusions in all the 
poets, and which in itself is charmingly fanciful. 
What will require to be studied with more atten- 
tion, is modern history; that is the history of 
France and Great Britain, from the beginning of 
Henry the seventh's reign. I know very well 
you have a mind capable of attaining knowledge 
by a shorter process than is commonly used, and 
I am certain you are capable of making a better 
use of it, when attained, than is generally done. 

I beg you will not give yourself the trouble of 
writing to me when it is inconvenient, and make 
no apology when you do write for having post- 
poned it — be assured of this, however, that I shall 
always be happy to hear from you. 1 think my 

friend Mr. told me that you had some poems 

in manuscript by you, of a satirical and humorous 
nature, (in which by the way I think you very 
strong) which your prudent friends prevailed on 
yoii to omit ; particularly one called Somebody's 
Confession ; if you will entrust me with a sight of 
any of these, I will pawn my word to give no 
copies, and will be obliged to you for a perusal of 
them. 



( 70 ) 

I understand you intend to take a farm, and 
make the useful and respectable business of hus^ 
bandry your chief occupation; this I hope will 
not prevent your making occasional addresses to 
the nine ladies who have shewn you such favour, 
one of whom visited you in the auld clay biggin, 
Virgil, before you proved to the world that there 
is nothing in the business of husbandry inimical 
to poetry; and I sincerely hope that you may 
afford an example of a good poet being a success- 
ful farmer. I fear it will not be in my power to 
visit Scotland this season : when I do, I'll endea- 
vour to find you out, for I heartily wish to see 
and converse with you. If ever your occasions 
call you to this place, I make no doubt of your 
paying me a visit, and you may depend on a very 
cordial welcome from this family. 

I am, dear Sir. 
Your friend and obedient servant, 

J. MOORE. 



No. 34. 
FROM MR. JOHN HUTCHINSON. 

Jamaica, St. Annes, IM June, 1787' 

Sir, 

I RECEIVED yours, dated Edinburgh, 
2d January, 1787, wherein you acquaint me you 
were engaged with Mr. Douglas, of Port Antonio, 
for three years, at thirty pounds sterling a year ; 



{ Tl ) 

and I am happy some unexpected accidents inter- 
vened that prevented your sailing with the vessel, 
as I have great reason to think Mr. Douglas's 
employ would by no means have answered your 
expectations. I received a copy of your publi- 
cations, for which I return you my thanks, and it 
is my own opinion, as well as that of such of my 
friends as have seen them, they are most excellent 
in their kind; although some could have wished 
they had been in the English style, as they allege 
the Scottish dialect is now becoming obsolete, and 
thereby the elegance and beauties of your poems 
are in a great measure lost to far the greatest part 
of the community. Nevertheless there is no 
doubt you had sufficient reasons for your conduct, 
perhaps the wishes of some of the Scottish nobility 
and gentry, your patrons, who will always relish 
their own old country style ; and your own incli- 
nations for the same. It is evident from several 
passages in your works, you are as capable of 
writing in the English as in the Scottish dialect, 
and I am in great hopes your genius for poetry, 
from the specimen you have already given, will 
turn out both for profit and honour to yourself 
and country. I can by no means advise you now 
to think of coming to the West Indies, as, I as- 
sure you, there is no encouragement for a man of 
learning and genius here ; and am very confident 
you can do far better in Great Britain, than in 
Jamaica. I am glad to hear my friends are well, 
and shall always be happy to hear from you at all 
convenient opportunities, wishing you success in 
all your undertakings. I will esteem it a parti- 



( n ) 

cular favour if you will send me a copy of the 
other edition you are now printing. 
I am, with respect. 

Dear Sir, yours, &c. 

JOHN HUTCHINSON. 



No. 35. 

AN EXTRACT OF A LETTER, 

TO MR. AINSLIE. 

ArrachaSy near CrochairbaSy by 
Lochleary, June 28th, 1787. 

Sir, 

X AVRITE you this on my tour through 
a country where savage streams tumble over 
savage mountains, thinly overspread with savage 
flocks, which starvingly support as savage inha- 
bitants. My last stage was Inverary — to-morrow 
night's stage, Dumbarton. I ought sooner to 
have answered your kind letter, but you know I 
am a man of many sins. 



No. 36. 

Mauckline, 2d August, 1787- 

Sir, 

Ml or some months past I have been 
rambling over the country, but I am now con- 
fined with some lingering complaints, originating. 



( 73 ) 

as I take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits 
a little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken 
a wiiim to give you a history of myself. My name 
has made some little noise in this country; you 
have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
warmly in my behalf; and I think a faithful ac- 
count of what character of a man I am, and how 
I came by that character, may perhaps amuse you 
in an idle moment. I will give you an honest 
narrative, though I know it will be often at my 
own expense ; for I assure you, Sir, I have, like 
Solomon, whose character, excepting in the tri- 
fling affair of wisdom , I sometimes think I re- 
semble: I have, I say, like him tuimed my eyes 
to be/told madness and folly, and like him too, 
frequently shaken hands with their intoxicating 
friendship. ****** 

For the remainder of this letter, which was ad- 
dressed to Dr. Moore, and which forms one of the 
most interesting specimens of biographical writing 
in the English language, we refer the reader to 
our poet's life prefixed to the preceding volume 
containing his poetical works. 



( 74 ) 

No. 37. 
TO MR. WALKER, BLAIR OF ATHOLE. 

Inverness, 5tk Dec. 1787. 

My dear Sir, 

A HAVE just time to write the fore- 
going,* and to tell you that it was (at least most 
part of it) tiie effusion of an half-hour I spent at 
Bruar. I do not mean it was extempore^ for I 
have endeavoured to brush it up as well as Mr. 
N — 's chat, and the jogging of the chaise would 
allow. It eases my heart a good deal, as rhyme 
is the coin with which a poet pays his debts of 
honour or gratitude. What I owe to the noble 
family of Athole, of the first kind, I shall ever 
proudly boast; what I owe of the last, so help me 
God in my hour of need ! I shall never forget. 

The * little angel-band !' I declare I prayed for 
them very sincerely to-day at the Fall of Fyers. 
I shall never forget the fine family piece I saw at 
Blair : the amiable, the truly noble duchess, with 
her smiling little seraph in her lap, at the head of 
the table : the lovely * olive plants,' as the Hebrew 
bard finely says, round the happy mother: the 
beautiful Mrs. G — ; the lovely sweet Miss C. &e. 
1 wish I had the powers of Guido to do them 
justice! My Lord Duke's kind hospitality— 
markedly kind indeed. Mr. G — of F — 's charms 

* The Humble Petition of Bruar- Water to the duke of 
-Athole. See Poems, p. 217. 



( Ti5 ) 

of conversation — Sir W. M — 's friendship. In 
short, the recollection of all that polite, agreeable 
company raises an honest glow in my bosom. 



No. 38. 
TO MR. GILBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh, IJih Sept. 1787- 

My dear Brother, 

Jl arrived here safe yesterday even- 
ing, after a tour of twenty two days, and travelling 
near six hundred miles, windings included. My 
farthest stretch w^as about ten miles beyond Inver- 
ness. I went thro' the heart of the Highlands by 
Crieff, Taymouth, the famous seat of lord Breadal- 
bane, down the Tay, among cascades and druidi- 
cal circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a seat of the 
duke of Athole ; thence cross Tay and up one of 
his tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another 
of the duke's seats, where I had the honour of 
spending nearly two days with his grace and 
family : thence many miles through a wild coun- 
try, among cliffs grey with eternal snows, and 
gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey and went 
down the stream through Strathspey, so famous 
in Scottish music; Badenoch, «Scc. till I reached 
Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir 
James Grant and family ; and then crossed the 
country for Fort George, but called by the way 
at Cawdor, the ancient seat of Macbeth ; there I 



( 76 ) 

saw the identical bed, in which tradition says 
king Duncan was murdered : lastly from Fort 
George to Inverness. 

I returned by the coast, through ^airn, Forres, 
and so on, to Aberdeen ; thence to Stonehive, 
where James Burness, from Montrose, met me 
by appointment. I spent two days among our 
relations, and found our aunts Jean and Isabel 
still alive, and iiale old women. John Caird, 
though born the same year with our father, walks 
as vigorously as I can ■■ they have had several let- 
ters from his son in New York. William Brand 
is likewise a stout old fellow ; but further particu- 
lars I delay till I see you, which will be in two or 
three weeks. The rest of my stages are not w^orth 
rehearsing: warm as I was from Ossian's country, 
where I had seen his very grave, what cared I for 
lishing-towns or fertile carses? I slept at the fa- 
inous Ijj'odie of Brodie\s one night, and dined at 
Gordon Castle next day with the duke, duchess, 
and family. — I am thinking to cause my old mare 
to meet me, by means of John Ronald, at Glas- 
gow ; but yon sliall hear farther from me before 1 
leave Edinburgh. My duty and many compli- 
ments from the north to my mother; and my 
brotherly compliments to the rest. I have been 
trying for a birth for William, but am not likely 
to be successful. Farewell. 



A3:ei?t:exdie i 01013^ Tali. 







^li/'tti'^^ /SrA^-^^ri2i.f i- Zuri/ii£ii< 



{ 77 ) 



No. 39. 
FROM ]\1R. W*****. 

Athole House, IStk Sept 1787. 

jL our letter of the 5th reached me only 
on the 11th; what awkward route it had taken I 
know not ; but it deprived me of the pleasure of 
writing to you in the manner you proposed, as 
you must have left Dundee before a letter could 
possibly have got there. I hope your disappoint- 
ment on being forced to leave us was as great as 
appeared from your expressions. This is the best 
consolation for the greatness of ours. I still think 
with vexation on that ill-timed indisposition which 
lost me a day's enjoyment of a man (I speak with- 
out flattery) possessed of those very dispositions 
and talents I most admire ; one ^.^ * ^ * * 
* * * ^ « « iif « «- * You know how 
anxious the duke was to have another day of you, 
and to let Mr, Dundas have the pleasure of your 
conversation as the best dainty w^ith which he 
could entertain an honoured guest. You know 
likewise the eagerness the ladies shewed to detain 
you; but perhaps you do not know the scheme 
which they devised, with their usual fertility in 
resources. One of the servants was sent to your 
driver, to bribe him to loosen or pull off a shoe 
from one of his horses, but the ambush failed. 
Pro/i viiruvi! The driver was incorruptible. 
Your verses have given much delight, and 1 think 



I 78 ) 

'vvill produce their proper effect.'^ They produced 
a powerful one immediately, for the morning after 
I read them, we all set out in procession to the 
Bruar, where none of the ladies had been these 
seven or eight years, and again enjoyed them 
there. The passages we most admired are the 
description of the dying trouts. Of the high fall, 
* twisting strength' is a happy picture of the upper 
part. The characters of the birds, 'mild and 
mellow' is the thrush itself The benevolent 
anxiety for their happiness and safety I highly 
approve. The two stanzas beginning * Here 
haply too' — darkly dashing^ is most descriptively 
Ossianic. 

^r ^ •* * ?^ * * 

Here I cannot deny myself the pleasure of men- 
tioning an incident which happened yesterday at 
the Bruar. As we passed the door of a most 
miserable hovel, an old woman courtsied to us, 
with looks of such poverty and such contentment, 
that each of us involuntarily gave her some money. 
She was astonished, and in the confusion of her 
gratitude invited us in. Miss C. and I, that we 
might not hurt her delicacy, entered — but, good 
God ! what wretchedness ! It was a cow-house, 
her own cottaoje had been burnt last winter. The 
poor old creature stood perfectly silent — looked at 
Miss C. then at the money, and burst into tears. — 
Miss C. joined her, and with a vehemence of sen- 
sibility took out her purse, and emptied it into 
the old woman's lap. What a charming scene! 

* The Humble I'etition of Hru;ir-\\',iUM- to the duke of 
Athole. Sep poems, p. '27 7. 



( 79 ) 

A sweet accomplished girl of seventeen in so an- 
gelic a situation. Take your pencil and paint her 
in your most glowing tints. Hold her up amidst 
the darkness of this scene of human w^oe, to the 
icy dames that flaunt through the gaieties of life 
without ever feeling one generous, one great 
emotion. 

Two days after you left us, I went to Tay- 
mouth. It is a charming place, but still I think 
art has been too busy. Let me be your Cicerone 
for two days at Dunkeld, and you will acknow- 
ledge that in the beauties of naked nature we are 
not surpassed. The loch, the Gothic arcade, and 
the fall of the hermitage, gave me most delight. 
But I think the last has not been taken proper 
advantage of. The hermitage is too much in the 
common place style. Every body expects the 
couch, the book press, and the hairy gown. The 
duke's idea I think better. A rich and elegant 
apartment is an excellent contrast to a scene of 
Alpine horrors. 

I must now beg your permission (unless you 
have some other design) to have your verses 
printed. They appear to me extremely correct, 
and some particular stanzas would give universal 
pleasure. Let me know however if you incline 

to give them any farther touches. 

****** 

Were they in some of the public papers, we 
could more easily disseminate them among our 
friends, which many of us are anxious to do. 

When you pay your promised visit to the 
Braes of Ochtertyre, Mr. and Mrs. Graham of 
Balgowan beg to have the pleasure of conducting 



( 80 ) 

you to the bower of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 
which is now in their possession. The duchess 
would give any consideration for another sight of 
your letter to Dr. Moore ; we must fall upon some 
method of procuring it for her. I shall enclose 
this to our mutual friend Dr. B******** who may 
forward it. I shall be extremely happy to hear 
from you at your first leisure. Inclose your letter 
in a cover addressed to the duke of Athole, Dun- 
keld. 

God bless you, 



No. 40. 
FROM MR. JOHN MURDOCH. 

Londoji, 28tk October, 1787. 

My dear Sir, 

As my friend, Mr. Brown, is going from 
this place to your neighbourhood, I embrace the 
opportunity of telling you that I am yet alive, 
tolerably well, and always in expectation of being 
better. By the much- valued letters before me, I 
see that it was my duty to have given you this 
intelligence about three years and nine months 
ago; and have nothing to allege as an excuse, 
but that we poor, busy, bustling bodies in Lon- 
don, are so much taken up with the various pur- 
suits in which we are here engaged, that we 
seldom think of any person, creature, place, or 
thing, that is absent. But this is not altogether 



( 81 ) 

the case with me ; for I often think of you, and 
Hornie, and Russel, and an unfathomed depths 
and lowan brunstane^ all in the same minute, al- 
though you and they are (as I suppose) at a con- 
siderable distance. I flatter myself, however, 
with the pleasing thought, that you and I shall 
meet some time or other, either in Scotland or 
England. If ever you come hither, you will have 
the satisfaction of seeing your poems relished by 
the Caledonians in London, full as much as they 
can be by those of Edinburgh. We frequently 
repeat some of your verses in our Caledonian 
society ; and you may believe that I am not a 
little vain, that I have had some share in culti- 
vating such a genius. 1 was not absolutely certain 
that you were the author, till a few days ago, 
when I made a visit to Mrs. Hill, Dr. M'Comb's 
eldest daughter, who lives in town, and who told 
me that she was informed of it by a letter from 
her sister in Edinburgh, with whom you had 
been in company when in that capital. 

Pray let me know if you have any intention of 
visiting this huge, overgrown metropolis. It 
would afford matter for a large poem. Here you 
would have an opportunity of indulging your vein 
in the study of mankind, perhaps to a greater de- 
gree than in any city upon the face of the globe ; 
for the inhabitants of London, as you know, are 
a collection of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, 
who make it, as it were, the centre of their com- 
merce. 

* * * * * * ^ 

Present my respectful compliments to Mrs. 
Burns, to my dear friend Gilbert, and all the rest 

M 



( 82 ) 

of her amiable children. May the Father of the 
universe bless you all with those principles and 
dispositions, that the best of parents took such 
uncommon pains to instil into your minds, from 
your earliest infancy. May you live as he did : if 
you do, you can never be unhappy. I feel myself 
grown serious all at once, and affected in a man- 
ner I cannot describe. I shall only add, that it is 
one of the greatest pleasures I promise myself be- 
fore I die, that of seeing the family of a man 
whose memory I revere more than that of any 
person that ever I w^as acquainted with. 
I am, my dear friend, 
Yours, sincerelv, 

JOHN MURDOCH. 



Sir, 



No. 41. 
FROM MRS. ROSE. 

Kilravock Castle j 30th November , 1787- 



JL HOPE you will do me the justice to 
believe, that it was no defect in gratitude for your 
punctual performance of your parting promise, 
that has made me so long in acknowledging it, 
but merely the difficulty I had in getting the 
Highland songs you wished to have, accurately 
noted : they are at last enclosed ; but how shall T 
convey along with them those graces they acqui- 
red from the melodious voice of one of the fair 
spirits of the hill of Kildrummie ! These I must 



( 83 ) 

leave to your imagination to supply. It has 
powers sufficient to transport you to her side, to 
recall her accents, and to make them still vibrate 
in the ears of memory. To her I am indebted for 
getting the enclosed notes. Tliey are clothed with 
thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.' 
These, however, being in an unknown tongue to 
you, you must again have recourse to that same 
fertile imagination of yours to interpret them, and 
suppose a lover's description of the beauties of an 
adored mistress — Why did I say unknown ? The 
language of love is an universal one, that seems to 
have escaped the confusion of Babel, and to be 
understood by all nations. 

I rejoice to find that you were pleased with so 
many things, persons, and places, in your northern 
tour, because it leads me to hope you may be in- 
duced to revisit them again. That the old castle 
of Kilravock, and its inhabitants, were amongst 
these, adds to my satisfaction. I am even vain 
enough to admit your very flattering application 
of the line of Addison's ; at any rate, allow me to 
believe, that * friendship will maintain the ground 
she has occupied in both our hearts,' in spite of 
absence, and that when we do meet, it will be as 
acquaintance of a score of year's standing ; and on 
this footing consider me as interested in the future 
course of your fame, so splendidly commenced. 
Any communications of the progress of your muse 
will be received with great gratitude, and the fire 
of your genius will have power to warm even us, 
frozen sisters of the north. 

The fire-sides of Kilravock and Kildrummie 
unite in cordial regards to you. When you in- 



( 84 ) 

cline to figure either in your idea, suppose some 
of us reading your poems, and some of us singing 
your songs, and my little Hugh looking at your 
picture, and you'll seldom be wrong. We remem- 
ber Mr. Nicol with as much good will as we can 
do any body who hurried Mr. Burns from us. 

Farewell, Sir ; I can only contribute the widow's 
mite to the esteem and admiration excited by your 
merits and genius; but this I give, as she did, 
with all my heart — being sincerely yours, 

EL. ROSE. 



No. 42. 

TO DALRYMPLE, ESQ, 

OF ORANGEFIELD. 

Edinburgh^ 1787» 

Dear Sik^ 

I SUPPOSE the devil is so elated with 
his success with you, that he is determined by a 
coup de main to complete his purposes on you all at 
once, in making you a poet. I broke open the 
letter you sent me; hummed over the rhymes; 
and, as I saw they were extempore, said to my- 
self, they were very well : but when I saw at the 
bottom a name that I shall ever value with grate- 
ful respect, ' I gapit wide but naething spak.' I 
was nearly as much struck as the friends of Job, 
of affliction-bearing memory, when they sat down 



( 85 ) 

with him seven days and seven nights, and spake 

not a word. 

^ # ^ « * * 

I am natm-ally of a superstitious cast, and a» 
soon as my wonder-scared imagination regained 
its consciousness, and resumed its functions, I 
cast about what this mania of yours might por- 
tend. My foreboding ideas had the wide stretch 
of possibility : and several events, great in their 
magnitude and in their consequences, occurred to 
my fancy. The downfall of the conclave, or the 
crushing of the cork rumps ; a ducal coronet to 

lord George G , and the protestant interest; 

or Saint Peter's keys, to * v- ^ * ^ ^ 

You want to know how I came on. I am just 
in statu quo ; or, not to insult a gentleman with 
my Latin, in 'auld use and wont.' The noble 
earl of Glencairn took me by the hand to-day, and 
interested himself in my concerns, with a good- 
ness like that benevolent Being whose image he 
so richly bears. He is a stronger proof of the im- 
mortality of the soul, than any that philosophy 
ever produced. A mind like his can never die. 
Let the worshipful squire H. L. or, the reverend 
Mass J. M. go into their primitive nothing. At 
best they are but ill digested lumps of chaos, only 
one of them strongly tinged with bituminous par- 
ticles and sulphureous effluvia. But my noble 
patron, eternal as the heroic swell of magnanimity, 
and the generous throb of benevolence, shall look 
on with princely eye at ' the war of elements, the 
wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.' 



( 86) 

No. 43. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, 21 st January , 1788. 

After six weeks* confinement, I am 
beginning to walk across the room. They have 
been six horrible weeks ; anguish and low spirits 
made me unfit to read, write, or think. 

I have a hundred times wished that one could 
resign life as an officer resigns a commission : for 
I would not take in any poor, ignorant wretch, 
by selling out. Irately I was a sixpenny private ; 
and, God knows, a miserable soldier enough ; now 
I march to the campaign, a starving cadet : a little 
more conspicuously wretched. 

I am ashamed of all this : for though I do want 
bravery for the warfare of life, I could wish, like 
some other soldiers, to have as much fortitude or 
cunning as to dissemble or to conceal my cowardice. 

As soon as I can bear the journey, which will 
be, I suppose, about the middle of next week, I 
leave Edinburgh, and soon after I shall pay my 
grateful duty at Dunlop-house. 



( 87 ) 

No. 44. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER, 

TO THE SAME. 

Edinhurghy VZth February, 1788. 

!^OME things in your late letters hurt 
me : not that you say them, but that you mistake 
me. Religion, my honoured madam, has not only 
been all my life my chief dependence, but my 
dearest enjoyment. I have indeed been the luck- 
less victim of wayward follies ; but, alas ! I have 
ever been ' more fool than knave.' A mathema- 
tician without religion is a probable character; 
an irreligious poet is a monster. 

jl^ jfe aU jA* jjX* jlc 

yfs ^ Tpr ^ yt^ ^ 



No. 45. 
TO THE SAME. 

Mossgiel, 7th March, 1788. 

Madam, 

X HE last paragraph in yours of the 30th 
February, affected me most, so I shall begin my 
answer where you ended your letter. That I am 
often a sinner with any little wit I have, I do 
confess: but I have taxed my recollection to no 
purpose, to find out when it was employed against 



( 88 ) 

you. I hate an ungenerous sarcasm, a great deal 
worse than I do the devil ; at least as Milton de- 
scribes him ; and though I may be rascally enough 
to be sometimes guilty of it myself, I cannot en- 
dure it in others. You, my honoured friend, who 
cannot appear in any light, but you are sure of 
being respectable — you can afford to pass by an 
occasion to display your wit, because you may 
depend for fame on your sense; or if you chuse to 
be silent, you know you can rely on the gratitude 
of many and the esteem of all ; but God help us 
who are wits or witlings by profession, if we stand 
not for fame there, we sink unsupported ! 

I am highly flattered by the news you tell me 
of Coila.* I may say to the fair painter who does 
me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to "Ross 
the poet, of his muse Scota, from which, by the 
bye, I took the idea of Coila : ('Tis a poem of 
Beattie's in the Scots dialect, which perhaps you 
have never seen). 

* Ye shak your head, but o' my fegs, 
YeVe set auld Scota on her legs : 
Lang had she lien wi' buife and flegs, 

Bombaz'd and dizzie. 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, 

Waes me, poor hizzie !' 

* A lady (daughter of Mrs. Dunlop) was making a picture 
from the description of Coila in the Vision. E. 



( 89 ) 

No. 46. 
TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN, 

Mauckline, SUt March, 1788. 

Yesterday, my dear sir, as I was 
riding thro' a track of melancholy, joyless muirs, 
between Galloway and Ayrshire; it being Sun- 
day, I turned my thoughts to psalms and hymns, 
and spiritual songs ; and your favourite air, Capt. 
Okean, coming at length in my head, 1 tried these 
words to it. You will see that the first part of 
the tune must be repeated.* 

I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as 
I have only a sketch of the tune, I leave it with 
you to try if they suit the measure of the music, 

I am so harrassed with care and anxiety, about 
this farming project of mine, that my muse has 
degenerated into the veriest proge-wench that ever 
picked cinders or followed a tinker. — When I am 
fairly got into the routine of business, I shall 
trouble you with a longer epistle; perhaps with 
some queries respecting farming; at present, the 
world sits such a load on my mind, that it has 
effaced almost every trace of the in me. 

My very best compliments and good wishes to 
Mrs. Cleghorn. 

* Here the bard giv6s the first stanza of the Chevalier\s 
Lament. 

N 



( 90 ) 

No. 47. 
TO MRS DUNLOP. 

Mauchline, 28ik April, 1788, 

Madam, 

jL our powers of reprehension must be 
great indeed, as 1 assure you they made my heart 
ache with penitential pangs, even though I was 
really not guilty. As I commence farmer at 
Whitsunday, you will easily guess I must be 
pretty busy; but that is not all. As I got the 
offer of the excise business without solicitation; 
and as it cost me only six months' attendance for 
instructions, to entitle me to a commission ; which 
commission lies by me, and at any future period 
on my simple petition can be resumed ; I thought 
five and thirty pounds a year was no bad dernier 
resort for a poor poet, if fortune in her jade tricks 
should kick him down from the little eminence to 
which she has lately helped him up. 

For this reason, I am at present attending these 
instructions, to have them completed before Whit- 
sunday. Still, madam, I prepared with the sin- 
cerest pleasure to meet you at the Mount, and 
came to my brother's on Saturday night, to set 
out on Sunday ;" but for some nights preceding I 
had slept in an apartment, where the force of the 
winds and rains was only mitigated by being sifted 
through numberless apertures in the windows, 
walls, kc. In consequence I was on Sunday, 
IMonday, and part of Tuesday, unable to stir out 



( 91 ) 

of bed, with all the miserable effects of a violent 
cold. 

You see, madam, the truth of the French 
maxim, Le vrai n'est pas toujours le vrai-sem- 
blable ; your last was so full of expostulation, and 
was something so like the language of an offended 
friend, that I began to tremble for a correspon- 
dence, which I had with grateful pleasure set 
down as one of the greatest enjoyments of my 

future life. 

>if * -;^ ^ * -* 

Your books have delighted me; Vii^gil, Dry- 
den, and Tasso, were all equally strangers to me ; 
but of this more at large in my next. 



No. 48. 
TO PROFESSOR DUGAL STEWART. 

Mauchline, 3d May, 1788. 

Siu, '^;=--'^ 

X INCLOSE you one or two more of my 
bagatelles. If the fervent wishes of honest grati- 
tude have any influence with that great, unknown 
Being, who frames the chain of causes and events ; 
prosperity and happiness will attend your visit to 
the continent, and return you safe to your native 
shore. 

Wh^-ever 1 am, allow me. Sir, to claim it as 
my privilege, to acquaint you with my progress 
in my trade of rhymes ; as I am sure I could say 
it with truth, that, next to my little fame, and 



( 92 ) 

the having it in my power to make life more com- 
fortable to those whom nature has made dear to 
me, I shall ever regard your countenance, your 
patronage, your friendly good offices, as the most 
valued consequence of my late success in life. 



No. 49. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER, 

TO MRS, DUNLOP. 

Mauchlme, Uh May, 1788. 
MaDxVM, 

DrYDEN'S Virgil has delighted me.— 
r do not know whether the critics will agree with 
nje, but the Gcorgics are to me by far the best of 
Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing entirely 
new to me ; and has filled my head with a thou- 
sand fancies of emulation : but alas ! when I read 
the Gcoj'gics, and then survey my own powers, 
'tis like the idea of a Shetland poney, drawn up 
by the side of a thorough-bred hunter, to start for 
the plate. I own I am disappointed in t^e JEneid, 
Faultless correctness may please, and does highly 
please the lettered critic; but to that awful cha- 
racter I have not the most distant pretensions. I 
do not know whether I do not hazard my preten- 
sions to be a critic of any kind, when I say that 1 
think Virgil, in many instances, a servile copier 
of Homer. If I had the Odyssey by me, I could 
parallel many passages where Virgil has evidently 



( 93 ) 

copied, but by no means improved Homer. Nor 
can I think there is any thing of this owing to 
the translators ; for, from every thing I have seen 
of Dryden, I think him in genius, and fluency of 
language, Pope's master. I have not perused 
Tasso enough to form an opinion : in some future 
letter you shall have my ideas of him ; though I 
am conscious my criticisms must be very inac-. 
curate and imperfect, as there I have ever felt and 
lamented my want of learning most. 



Madam, 



No. 50. 
TO THE SAME. 

^7th May, 1788. 



1 HAVE been torturing my philosophy 
to no purpose, to account for that kind partiality 
of yours, which unlike **^^*^*** 
* * * has followed me in my return to the 
shade of life, wath assiduous benevolence. Often 
did I regret, in the fleeting hours of my late will- 
o-wisp appearance, that ' here I had no continuing 
city;' and, but for the consolation of a few solid 
guineas, could almost lament the time that a 
momentary acquaintance with wealth and splen- 
dour, put me so much out of conceit with the 
swjofn^cOm pan ions of my road through life, insig- 
nificance and poverty. 



{9^) 

There are few circumstances relating to the un« 
equal distribution of the good things of this life, 
that give me more vexation (I mean in what I 
see around me) than the importance the opulent 
bestow on their trifling family affairs, compared 
with the very same things on the contracted scale 
of a cottage. Last afternoon I had the honour to 
spend an hour or two at a good woman's fire side, 
where the planks that composed the floor were 
decorated with a splendid carpet, and the gay 
table sparkled with silver and china. 'Tis now 
about term day, and there has been a revolution 
among those creatures, who, though in appearance, 
partakers and equally noble partakers of the same 
nature with Madame; are from time to time, 
their nerves, their sinews, their health, strength, 
wisdom, experience, genius, time, nay a good 
part of their very thoughts, sold for months and 
years, ********** * ^ot 
only to the necessities, the conveniences, but the 
caprices of the important few.* We talked of the 
insignificant creatures ; nay, notwithstanding their 
general stupidity and rascality, did some of the 
poor devils the honour to commend them. But 
light be the turf upon his breast, who taught, 
* Reverence thyself We looked down on the 
unpolished wretches, their impertinent wives and 
clouterly brats, as the lordly bull does on the little 
dirt}^ ant-hill, whose puny inhabitants he crushes 
in the carelessness of his ramble, or tosses in air in 
the wantonness of his pride. 

* Servants, in Scotland, are liired from lenn to term, i. e. 
Vrom Whitsunday to Martinmas^ Kc. 



( 95 ) 



No. 51. 

TO THE SAME. 

AT MR. DUNLOFS, HADDINGTON. 

Ellisland, 13th June, 1788. 

* Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see. 
My heai-t, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my friend it turns with ceaseless pain. 
And drags at each remove a lengthen'd chain.* 

Goldsmith. 

X HIS is the second day, my honoured 
friend, that I have been on my farm. A solitary 
inmate of an old, smoky Spence ;* far from every 
object I love, or by whom I am beloved ; nor any 
acquaintance older than yesterday, except Jenny 
Geddes, the old mare I ride on ; while uncouth 
cares, and novel plans, hourly insult my awkward 
ignorance and bashful inexperience. There is a 
foggy atmosphere native to my soul in the hour 
of care, consequently the dreary objects seem 
larger than life. Extreme sensibility, irritated 
and prejudiced on the gloomy side by a series of 
misfortunes and disappointments, at that period 
of my existence when the soul is laying in her 
cargo of ideas for the voyage of life, is, I believe, 
the principal cause of this unhappy frame of mind, 

♦ The Parlour. 



(96) 

^ The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer ? 
Or what need he regard his single woes ?' &c. 

Your surmise, madam, is just; I am indeed a 
husband. 

1 found a once much-loved and still much-loved 
female, literally and truly cast out to the mercy 
of the naked elements, but as I enabled her to 
purchase a shelter ; and there is no sporting with 
a fellow- creature's happiness or misery. 

The most placid good-nature and sweetness of 
disposition ; a warm heart, gratefully devoted with 
all its powers to love me; vigorous health and 
sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best advan- 
tage, by a more than common handsome figure ; 
these, I think in a woman, may make a good 
wife, though she should never have read a page, 
but the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament ^ 
nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a 
penny-pay wedding. 



No. 52. 
TO MR. P. HILL. 

My dear Hill, 

X SHALL say nothing at all to your 
mad present — you have so long and often been of 
important service to me, and I suppose you mean 
to go on conferring obligations until 1 shall not 
be able to lift up my face before you. In the 



( 97) 

mean time, as Sir Roger de Coverley, because it 
happened to be a cold day in which he made his 
will, ordered his servants great coats for mourn- 
ing; so, because I have been this week plagued 
with an indigestion, I have sent you by the car- 
rier a fine old ewe-milk cheese. 

Indigestion is the devil : nay, 'tis the devil and 
all. It besets a man in every one of his senses. 
I lose my appetite at the sight of successful 
knavery ; and sicken to loathing at the noise and 
nonsense of self-important folly. — When the hol- 
low-hearted wretch takes me by the hand, the 
feeling spoils my dinner; the proud man's wine 
so offends my palate that it choaks me in the gul- 
let ; and the pulvilis'd, feathered, pert coxcomb, 
is so disgustful in my nostril that my stomach 
turns. 

If ever you have any of these disagreeable sen- 
sations, let me prescribe for you patience and a 
bit of my ciieese. I know that you are no niggard 
of your good things among your friends, and 
some of them are in much need of a slice. There 
in my eye is our friend, Smellie ; a man positively 
of the first abilities and greatest strength of mind, 
as well as one of the best hearts and keenest wits 
that I have ever met with ; when you see him, 
as, alas ! he too is smarting at the pinch of dis- 
tressful circumstances, aggravated by the sneer of 
contumelious greatness — a bit of my cheese alone 
will not cure him, but if you add a tankard of 
brown stout, and superadd a magnum of right 
Oporto, you will see his sorrows vanish like the 
morning mist before the summer sun. 
5 O 



( 98 ) 

C — — h, the earliest friend, except my only 
brother, that I have on earth, and one of the wor- 
thiest fellows that ever any man called by the 
name of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese would 
help to rid him of some of his superabundant 
modesty, you would do w^ell to give it him. 

David* with his Courant comes, too, across 
my recollection, and I beg you will help him 
largely from the said ew^e-miik cheese, to enable 

him to digest those bedaubing paragraphs 

with which he is eternally larding the lean cha- 
racters of certain great men in a certain great town. 
I grant you the periods are very well turned ; so, 
a fresh egg is a very good thing, but when thrown 
at a man in a pillory it does not at all improve his 
figure, not to mention the irreparable loss of the 

My facetious friend, D r, I would wish also 

to be a partaker ; not to digest his spleen, for that 
he laughs off, but to digest his last night's wine at 
the last field-da}^ of the Crochallan corps.f 

Among our common friends I must not forget 
one of the dearest of them, Cunningham. The 
brutality, insolence, and selfishness of a world un- 
worthy of having such a fellow as he is in it, I 
know sticks in his stomach ; and if you can help 
him to any thing that wnll make him a little easier 
on that score, it will be very obliging. 

x\s to honest J S — — e, he is such a con- 
tented happy man that I know not what can 
annoy him, except perhaps he may not have got 

"^ Printer of the Edinburgh Evening Courant. 
t A club of choice spirits. 



( 99 ) 

the better of a parcel of modest anecdotes which a 
certain poet gave him one night at supper, the 
last time the said poet was in town. 

Though I have mentioned so many men of law, 
I shall have nothing to do with them professedly. — 
The faculty are beyond my prescription. As to 
their clients^ that is another thing; God knows 
they have much to digest ! 

The clergy, I pass by : their profundity of eru- 
dition, and their liberality of sentiment; their 
total want of pride, and their detestation of hy- 
pocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as to place 
them far, far above either my praise or censure. 

I was going to mention a man of worth, whom 
I have the honour to call friend, the laird of Craig- 
darroch ; but I have spoken to the landlord of the 
King's-arm inn here, to have at the next county 
meeting a large ewe-milk cheese on the table, for 
the benefit of the Dumfrieshire whigs, to enable 
them to digest the duke of Queensberry's late 
political conduct. 

1 have just this moment an opportunity of a 
private hand to Edinburgh, as perhaps you would 
not digest double postage. 



( 100 ) 

No. 53. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

MauchJme, 2d August j 1788. 

Honoured Madam, 

jL our kind letter welcomed me, yester- 
night, to Ayrshire. I am indeed seriously angry 
with you at the quantum of your luckpenny ; but 
vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help laugh- 
ing very heartily at the noble lord's apology for 
the missed napkin. 

I would write you from Nithsdale, and give 
you my direction there, but I have scarce an op- 
portunity of calling at a post office once in a fort- 
night. I am six miles from Dumfries, am scarcely 
ever in it myself, and, as yet, have little acquaint- 
ance in the neighbourhood. Besides, I am now 
very busy on my farm, building a dwelling-house ; 
as at present I am almost an evangelical man in 
Nithsdale, for I have scarce * where to lay my 
head.' 

There are some passages in your last that 
brought tears in my eyes. ' The heart knoweth 
its own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not 
therewith.' The repository of these 'sorrows of 
the heart,' is a kind of sanctum sanctorwn; and 
'tis only a chosen friend, and that too at particur 
lar, sacred times, who dares enter into them. 

' Heaven oft teai*s the bosom-chords 
' That nature finest strung.' 



( 101 ) 

You will excuse this quotation for the sake of 
the author. Instead of entering on this subject 
farther, I shall transcribe you a few lines I wrote 
in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman in my 
Nithsdale neighbourhood. They are almost the 
only favours the muses have conferred on me in 
that country * 

Since I am in the way of transcribing, the fol- 
lowing were the production of yesterday, as J jog- 
ged through the wild hills of New Cumnock. I 
intend inserting them, or something like them, in 
an epistle I am going to write to the gentleman 
on whose friendship my excise hopes depend, Mr. 
Graham of Fintry ; one of the worthiest and most 
accomplished gentlemen, not only of this country, 
but I \\i\\ dare to say it of this age. The follow- 
ing are just the first crude thoughts * unhousel'd, 

unanointed, unaneal'd.'f 

******* 

Here the muse left me. I am astonished at 
what you tell me of Anthony's writing me. I 
never received it. Poor fellow ! you vex me 
much by telling me that he is unfortunate. I shall 
be in Ayrshire ten days from this date. I have 
just room for an old Koman farewell. 

* ' Thou whom chance may hither lead.* See poems, p. 200. 
f ' Pity the tuneful Muses' helpless train.' See poems, p. 237. 



( 102 ) 

No. 54. 
TO THE SAME. 

Mauchline, lOtk August, 1788. 

My much honoured Friend, 

JL OURS of the 24th June is before me. 
I found it, as well as another valued friend — my 
wife, waiting to welcome me to Ayrshire : I met 
both with the sincerest pleasure. 

When I write you, madam, 1 do not sit down 
to answer every paragraph of yours, by echoing 
every sentiment, like the faithful Commons of 
Great Britain in parliament assembled, answering 
a speech from the best of kings ! I express myself 
in the fulness of my heart, and may perhaps be 
guilty of neglecting some of your kind inquiries ; 
but not from your very odd reason that I do not 
read your letters. All your epistles for several 
months have cost me nothing, except a swelling 
throb of gratitude, or a deep-felt sentiment of 
veneration. 

Mrs. Burns, madam, is the identical woman 

^ W "vpr ^ "^ "7^ 

When she first found herself ' as women wish to 
be who love their lords;' as I loved her nearly to 
distraction, we took steps for a private marriage. 
Her parents got the hint; and not only forbade 
me her company and their house, but on my ru- 
moured West Indian voyage got a warrant to put 
me in jail, till I should find security in my about- 



( 103 ) 

to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky 
reverse of fortune. On my eclatant return to 
Mauchline, I was made very welcome to visit my 
girl. The usual consequences began to betray 
her ; and as I was at that time laid up a cripple in 
Edinburgh, she Avas turned, literally turned out 
of doors, and I wrote to a friend to shelter her 
till my return, when our marriage was declared. 
Her happiness or misery were in my hands, and 
who could trifle with such a deposit ? 

TfJ * * * * * 

I can easily fancy a more agreeable companion 
for my journey of life, but, upon my honour, I 
have never seen the individual instance. 

^- * -» yf^ ^ ^7 

Circumstanced as I am, I could never have got 
a female partner, for life, who could have entered 
into my favourite studies, relished my favourite 
authors, &c. without probably entailing on me, at 
the same time, expensive living, fantastic caprice, 
perhaps apish affectation, with all the other bless- 
ed, boarding school acquirements, which (pardon- 
7iez moi, Madame) are sometimes to be found 
among females of the upper ranks, but almost uni- 
versally pervade the misses of the would-be gentry. 

* * T^ * * i!f 

I like your way in your church-yard lucubra- 
tions. Thoughts that are the spontaneous result 
of accidental situations, either respecting health, 
place, or company, have often a strength, and 
always an originality, that would in vain be look- 
ed for in fancied circumstances and studied para- 
graphs. For me, I have often thought of keeping 
a letter, in pi^ogression, by me, to send you when 



( 104 ) 

the sheet was written out. Now I talk of sheets, 
I must tell you, my reason for writing to you on 
paper of this kind, is my pruriency of writing to 
you at large. A page of post is on such a dis- 
social, narrow-minded scale, that I cannot abide 
it; and double letters, at least in my miscellaneous 
reverie maimer, are a monstrous tax in a close 
correspondence. 



No, 55. 
TO THE SAME. 



Ellisland, l6th August, J 788. 

Jl AM in a fine disposition, my honoured 
friend, to send you an elegiac epistle ; and want 
only genius to make it quite Shenstonian. 

^ Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn ? 
Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky ?' 



My increasing cares in this, as yet, strange 
:COuntry — gloomy conjectures in the dark vista of 
futurity — consciousness of my own inability for 
the struggle of the world— my broadened mark to 
misfortune in a wife and children : — 1 could in- 
dulge these reflections, till my humour should 
ferment into the most acid chagrin, that would 
corrode the very thread of life. 

To counterwork these baneful feelings, I have 
sat down to write to you ; as I declare upon my 



( 105 ) 

soul I always find that the most sovereign balm 
for my wounded spirit. 

I was yesterday at Mr. 's to dinner, for the 

first time. My reception was quite to my mind : 
from the lady of the house quite flattering. She 
sometimes hits on a couplet or two, improviptu. 
She repeated one or two to the admiration of all 
present. My suffrage, as a professional man, was 
expected: I for once went agonizing over the 
belly of my conscience. Pardon me ye, my adored 
household gods — Independence of spirit, and In- 
tegrity of soul ! In the course of conversation, 
Johnson's Musical Museum, a collection of Scot- 
tish songs with the music, was talked of We 
got a song on the harpischord, beginning, 

' Raving winds around her blowing.'* 

The air was much admired : the lady of the house 
asked me whose were the words, * Mine, madam 
— they are indeed my very best verses :' she took 
not the smallest notice of them ! The old Scottish 
proverb says well, ' king's caff is better than ither 
folks' corn.' I was going to make a New Testa- 
ment quotation about 'casting pearls,' but that 
would be too virulent, for the lady is actually a 

woman of sense and taste. 

^ * «• * * * 

After all that has been said on the other side of 
the question, man is by no means a happy crea- 
ture. I do not speak of the selected few, favoured 
by partial heaven ; whose souls are tuned to glad- 
ness amid riches and honours, and prudence and 
wisdom. I speak of the neglected many, whose 

* See poems, p. 452, 
P 



( 106 ) 

nerves, whose sinews, whose days, are sold to the 
minions of fortune. 

If I thought you had never seen it, I would 
transcribe for you a stanza of an old Scottish bal- 
lad, called, The life and age of 7nan ; beginning 
thus, 

''Twas in the sixteenth tiunder year 

Of God and fifty three, 
Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear. 

As writings testifie.* 

I had an old grand-uncle, with whom my 
mother lived a while in her girlish years: the 
good old man, for such he was, was long blind 
ere he died; during which time, his highest en- 
joyment was to sit down and cry, while my mo- 
ther would sing the simple old song of The life 
and age of man. 

It is this way of thinking, it is these melan- 
choly truths, that make religion so precious to 
the poor, miserable children of men. — If it is a 
mere phantom, existing only in the heated ima- 
gination of enthusiasm, 

* What truth on earth so precious as the lie !' 

My idle reasonings sometimes make me a little 
sceptical, but the necessities of my heart always 
give the cold philosophisings the lie. Who looks 
for the heart weaned from earth ; the soul affianced 
to her God ; the correspondence fixed with hea- 
ven ; the pious supplication and devout thanks- 
giving, constant as the vicissitudes of even and 
morn ; who thinks to meet with these in the 
court, the palace, in the glare of public Hfe ? No : 



( 107 ) 

to find them in their precious importance and 
divine efficacy, we must search among the obscure 
recesses of disappointment, affliction, poverty, and 
distress. 

I am sure, dear madam, you are now more than 
pleased with the le?igth of my letters. I return 
to Ayrshire, middle of next week : and it quickens 
my pace to think that there will be a letter from 
you waiting me there. I must be here again very 
soon for mv harvest. 



IVo. 56. 
TO K GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY. 

SlE, 

W HEN I had the honour of being in- 
troduced to you at Athole-house, I did not think 
so soon of asking a favour of you. When Lear, 
in Shakespeare, asks old Kent why he v^'ished to 
be in his service, he answers, * Because you have 
that in your face w^liich I could like to call mas- 
ter.' For some such reason, Sir, do I now solicit 
your patronage. You know, I dare say, of an 
application I lately made to your board, to be ad- 
mitted an officer of excise. I have according to 
form been examined by a supervisor, and to-day 
I gave in his certificate with a request for an order 
for instructions. In this affair, if I succeed, I am 
afraid I sliall but too much need a patronizing 
friend. Propriety of conduct as a man, and fide- 



( 108 ) 

lity and attention as an officer, I dare engage for ; 
but with any thing like business, except manual 
labour, I am totally unacquainted. 

1 had intended to have closed my late appear- 
ance on the stage of life, in the character of a 
country farmer ; but after discharging some filial 
and fraternal claims, I find I could only fight for 
existence in that miserable manner, which I have 
lived to see throw a venerable parent into the jaws 
of a jail ; whence death, the poor man's last and 
often best friend, rescued him. 

I know. Sir, that to need your goodness is to 
have a claim on it ; may I therefore beg your pa- 
tronage to forward me in this affair, till I be ap- 
pointed to a division, where, by the help of rigid 
economy, I will try to support that independence 
so dear to my soul, but which has been too often 
so distant from my situation. 



No. 57. 
TO MR. PETER HILL. 

Mauehline, Ut October, 1788. 

Jl HAVE been here in this country 
about three days, and all that time my chief read- 
ing has been the ' Address to Lochlomond,' you 
were so obliging as to send to me. Were I im- 
pannelled one of the author's jury, to determine 
his criminality respecting the sin of poesy, my 



( 109 ) 

verdict should be ' Guilty ! A poet of nature's 
making !' It is an excellent method for improve- 
ment, and what I believe every poet does; to 
place some favourite classic author in his own 
walks of study and composition, before him, as a 
model. Though your author had not mentioned 
the name, I could have, at half a glance, guessed 
his model to be, Thomson. Will my brother 
poet forgive me, if I venture to hint, that his 
imitation of that immortal bard, is in two or three 
places rather more servile than such a genius as 
his required. — e. g. 

To soothe the madding passions all to peace. 

Address. 
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace. 

Thomsofi. 

I think the Address is, in simplicity, harmony, 
and elegance of versification, fully equal to the 
Seasons. Like Thomson too he has looked into 
nature for himself: you meet with no copied de- 
scription. One particular criticism I made at first 
reading ; in no one instance has he said too much. 
He never flags in his progress, but like a true 
poet of nature's making, kindles in his course. 
His beginning is simple and modest, as if distrust- 
ful of the strength of his pinion ; only, I do not 
altogether like 

' Truth, 
The soul of every song that's nobly great.' 

Fiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly 
great. Perhaps I am wrong : this may be but a 
prose-criticism. Is not the phrase, in line 7, yage 



{ 110 ) 

6, 'Great lake,' too much vulgarized by every 
day language, for so sublime a poem ? 

'Great mass of waters^ theme for nobler song,' 

is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a 
comparison with otiier lakes, is at once harmonious 
and poetic. Every reader's ideas must sweep the 

' Winding margin of an hundred miles.* 

The perspective that follows mountains blue — 
the imprisoned billows beating in vain — the wood- 
ed isles — the digression on the yew-tree — *Ben- 
lomond's lofty, cloud-enveloped head,' &c. are 
l)eautiful. A thunder-storm is a subject, which 
has been often tried, yet our poet, in his grand 
picture, has interjected a circumstance so far as I 
know entirely original. 

' The gloom 
Deep seemed wilh frequent streaks of moving fire.' 

In his preface to the storm, ' the glens how 
dark between,' is noble highland landscape ! The 
' rain plowing the red mould,' too, is beautifully 
fancied. Ben-lomond's * lofty, pathless top,' is a 
good expression ; and the surrounding view from 
jt is truly great : the 

' Silver mist 
Beneath the beaming sun/ 

is well described; and here he has contrived to 
enliven his poem witli a little of that passion 
which bids fair, 1 think, to usurp the modern 
muses altogether. I know not how far this epi- 
sode is a beauty upon the whole, but the swain's 
wish to carry ' some faint idea of the vision bright/ 



( 111 ) 

to entertain her * partial, listening ear,' is a pretty- 
thought. But in my opinion the most beautiful 
passages in the whole poem, are the fowls crowd- 
ing, in wintry frosts, to Loehlomond's ' hospitable 
flood •/ their wheeling round, their hghting, mix- 
ing, driving, &c. ; and the glorious description of 
the sportsman. This last is equal to any in the 
Seasons. The idea of ' the floating tribes distant 
seen, far glistering to the moon,' provoking his 
eye as he is obliged to leave them, is a noble ray 
of poetic genius. * Tiie howling winds,' the 
* hideous roar' of 'the white cascades,' are all in 
the same style. 

I forget that while I am thus holding forth with 
the heedless warmth of an enthusiast, I am per- 
haps tiring you with nonsense. I must however 
mention, that the last verse of the sixteenth page 
is one of the most elegant compliments I have 
ever seen. I must likewise notice that beautiful 
paragraph, beginning, 'The gleaming lake,' &c. 
I dare not go into the particular beauties of the 
two last paragraphs, but they are admirably fine, 
and truly Ossianic. 

I must beg your pardon for this lengthened 
scrawl. I had no idea of it when I began — I 
should like to know who the author is ; but, who- 
ever he be, please present him with my grateful 
thanks for the entertainment he has afforded me. 

A friend of mine desired me to commission for 
him, two books, ' Letters on the Religion essential 
to Man, a book you sent me before; and The 
World unmasked, or the Philosopher the greatest 
Cheat. Send me them by the first opportunity. 



( 112 ) 

The Bible you sent me is truly elegant : I only 
wish it had been in two volumes. 



No. 58. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS. 

Mauckline, 13tk November, 1788. 

Madam, 

Ml had the very great pleasure of dining 
at Dunlop yesterday. Men are said to flatter 
women because they are weak ; if it is so, poets 
must be weaker still ; for Misses R. and K. and 
Miss G. M'K., with their flattering attentions and 
artful compliments, absolutely turned my head. 
I own they did not lard me over as many a poet 
does his patron ********** 
but they so intoxicated me with their sly insinu- 
ations and delicate inuendoes of compliment, that 
if it had not been for a lucky recollection, how 
much additional weight and lustre your good 
opinion and friendship must give me in that circle, 
I had certainly looked upon myself as a person of 
no small consequence. I dare not say one word 
how much I was charmed with the major's friendly 
welcome, elegant manner, and acute remark, lest 
I should be thought to balance my orientalisms of 
applause over against the finest quey* in Ayrshire, 
which he made me a present of, to help and adorn 
my farm-stock. As it was on hallow-day, I am 

^- Heifer, 



( 113 ) 

determined annually, as that day returns, to deco- 
rate her horns with an ode of gratitude to the 

family of Dunlop. 

******* 

So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I 
will take the first conveniency to dedicate a day, 
or perhaps two, to you and friendship, under the 
guarantee of the major's hospitality. There will 
soon be three score and ten miles of permanent 
distance between us; and now that your friend- 
ship and friendly correspondence is entwisted with 
the heart-strings of my enjoyment of life, I must 
indulge myself in a happy day of * The feast of 
reason and the flow of soul/ 



No. 59. 



TO 

SlK, 



November 8tk, 1788. 



N( 



OTWITHSTANDING the opprobri- 
ous epithets with which some of our philosophers 
and gloomy sectaries have branded our nature — 
the principle of universal selfishness, the proneness 
to all evil, they have given us ; still, the detesta- 
tion in which inhumanity to the distressed, or in- 
solence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, 
shews that they are not natives of the human 
heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind, 
who is undone, the bitter consequence of his follies 
or his crimes, who but sympathizes with the 

Q " 



( 114 ) 

miseries of this ruined profligate brother? We 
forget the injuries, and feel for the man. 

I went, last Wednesday, to my parish churchy 
most cordially to join in grateful acknowledgments 
to the Author of all Good, for the consequent 
blessings of the glorious revolution. To that aus- 
picious event we owe no less than our liberties^ 
civil and religious ; to it we are likewise indebted 
for the present royal family, the ruling features of 
whose administration have ever been, mildness to 
the subject, and tenderness of his rights. 

Bred and educated in revolution principles, the 
principles of reason and common sense, it could 
not be any silly political prejudice which made my 
heart revolt at the harsh, abusive manner, in 
which the reverend gentleman mentioned the 
house of Stewart, and which, I am afraid, was 
too much the language of the day. We may re- 
joice sufficiently in our deliverance from past evils, 
without cruelly raking up the ashes of those,, 
whose misfortune it was, perhaps as much as their 
crime, to be the authors of those evils; and we 
may bless God for all his goodness to us as a na- 
tion, without, at the same time, cursing a few 
ruined, powerless exiles, who only harboured 
ideas, and made attempts, that most of us would 
have done, had we been in their situation. 

*The bloody and tyrannical house of Stewart* 
may be said with propriety and justice, when 
compared with the present royal family, and the 
sentiments of our days ; but is there no allowance 
to be made for the manners of the times ? Were 
the royal contemporaries of the Stewarts more at- 
t^ntive to their subjects' rights? Might not the 



( 115 ) 

-epithets of 'bloody and tyrannical' be, with at 
least equal justice, applied to the house of Tudor, 
of York, or any other of their predecessors ? 

The simple state of the case, sir, seems to be 
this — At that period, the science of government, 
the knowledge of the true relation between king 
and subject, was, like other sciences and other 
knowledge, just in its infancy, emerging from 
dark ages of ignorance and barbarity. 

The Stewarts only contended for perogatives 
which they knew their predecessors enjoyed, and 
which they saw their contemporaries enjoying; 
but these prerogatives were inimical to the hap- 
piness of a nation, and the rights of subjects. 

In this contest between prince and people, the 
consequence of that light of science, which had 
lately dawned over Europe, the monarch of 
France, for example, was victorious over the 
struggling liberties of his people : with us, luckil}'' 
the monarch failed, and his unwarrantable preten- 
sions fell a sacrifice to our rights and happiness. 
Whether it was owing to the wisdom of leading 
individuals, or to the justling of parties, I cannot 
pretend to determine ; but likewise happily for us, 
the kingly power was shifted into another branch 
of the family, who, as they owed the throne solely 
to the call of a free people, could claim nothing 
inconsistent with the covenanted terms which 
placed them there. 

The Stewarts have been condemned and lauoh. 
ed at for the folly and impracticability of their 
attempts in 1715 and 17-^5. That they failed, I 
bless God ; but cannot join in the ridicule against 



( 116 ) 

them. Who does not know that the abilities or 
defects of leaders and commanders are often hid- 
den until put to the touchstone of exigency ; and 
that there is^ caprice of fortune, an omnipotence in 
particular accidents and conjunctures of circum- 
stances, which exalt us as heroes, or bi'and us as 
madmen, just as they are for or against us? 

Man, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, incon- 
sistent being: Who would believe, sir, that, in 
this our Augustan age of liberality and refine- 
ment, while we seem so justly sensible and jealous 
of our rights and liberties, and animated with such 
indignation against the very memory of those who 
would have subverted them — that a certain people, 
under our national protection, should complain, 
not against our monarch and a few favourite ad- 
visers, but against our whole legisi>ative body, 
for similar oppression, and almost in tlie very same 
terms, as our forefathers did of the house of Stew- 
art ! I will not, I cannot enter into the merits of 
the cause, but I dare say the American CongTess, 
in 1776, will be allowed to be as able and as en- 
lightened as the English convention was in I688; 
and that their posterity will celebrate the centenary 
of their deliverance from us, as duly and .sincerely 
as we do ours from the oppressive measures of the 
wrong-headed house of Stewart. 

To conclude, sir; let every man who has a tear 
for the many miseries incident to humanity, feel 
for a family illustrious as any in Europe, and un- 
fortunate beyond historic precedent ; and let every 
Briton (and particularly every Scotsman), who 
<n er looked witji reverential pity on the dotage of 



( 117 ) 

a parent, cast a veil over the fatal mistakes of the 
kings of his forefathers * 



No. 60. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, \ltk December, 1788. 

My dear honoured friend, 

JL OURS, dated Edinburgh, which I have 
just read, makes me very unhappy. Almost 
^ blind and wholly deaf,' are melancholy news of 
human nature; but when told of a much loved 
and honoured friend, they carry misery in the 
sound. Goodness on your part, and gratitude on 
mine, began a tie, which has gradually and strongly 
entwisted itself among the dearest chords of my 
bosom ; and I tremble at the omens of your late 
and present ailing habit and shattered health. 
You miscalculate matters widely, when you for- 
bid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt my 
worldly concerns. — My small scale of farming is 
exceedingly more simple and easy than what you 
ha\'e lately seen at Moreham Mains. But be that 
as it may, the heart of the man, and the fancy of 
the poet, are the two grand considerations for 
which 1 live : if miry ridges, and dirty dunghills 
are to engross the best part of the functions of my 

* This letter was sent to the publisher of some newspaper, 
probably the publisher of the Edinburgh Evening CouranU 



( 118 ) 

soul immortal, I had better been a rook or a mag- 
pie all at once, and then I should not have been 
plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of 
clods, and picking up grubs : not to mention 
barn-door cocks or mallards, creatures with which 
I could almost exchange lives at any time. — If 
you continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be 
no great pleasure to either of us ; but if I hear 
you are got so well again as to be able to relish 
conversation, look you to it, madam, for I wdll 
make my threatenings good. I am to be at the 
new year-day fair of Ayr, and by all that is sacred 
in the world, friend ! I will come and see you. 

^ -^ -^- * e^ * 

Your meeting, which you so well describe, 
with your old schoolfellow and friend, was truly 
interesting. Out upon the ways of the world ! — 
They spoil these ' social offsprings of the heart.* 
Two veterans of the * men of the world' would 
have met, with little more heart-workings than 
two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is 
not the Scotch phrase, ' Auld lang syne,' exceed- 
ingly expressive. There is an old song and tune 
which has often thrilled through my soul. You 
know I am an enthusiast in old Scotch songs. I 
shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I 
suppose Mr. Ker will save you the postage.* 

Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven- 
inspired poet who composed this glorious frag- 
ment ! There is more of the fire of native genius 
in it, than in half a dozen of modern English Bac- 

* Here follows the song of Auld lang spic, as printed,— 
See poems, p. 413. 



( 119 ) 

chanalians. Now I am on my hobby-horse, I 
cannot help inserting two other old stanzas, which 
please me mightily. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, &c.* 



No. 61. 
TO MISS DA\ lES, 



A young lady who had heard he had been making a 
ballad on Mr^ enclosing that ballad. 

December t 1788. 

Madam, 

I UNDERSTAND my very worthy 
neighbour, Mr. Riddel, has informed you that I 
have made you the subject of some verses. There 
is something so provoking in the idea of being the 
burden of a ballad, that I do not think Job or 
Moses, though such patterns of patience and meek- 
ness, could have resisted the curiosity to know 
what that ballad was : so my worthy fi-iend has 
done me a mischief, which I dare say he never in- 
tended ; and reduced me to the unfortunate alter- 
native of leaving your curiosity ungratified, or 
else disgusting you with foolish verses, the un- 
finished production of a random moment, and 
never meant to have met your ear. I have heard 
or read somewhere of a gentleman, who had some 
genius, much eccentricity, and very considerable 

"* See poems, p. 509. 



( 120 ) 

dexterity with his pencil. In the accidental group 
of life into which one is thrown, wherever this 
gentleman met with a character in a more than 
ordinary degree congenial to his heart, he used to 
steal a sketch of the face, merely, he said, as a 
nota bene to point out the agreeable recollection 
to his memory. — What this gentleman's pencil 
was to him, is my muse to me ; and the verses I 
do myself tlie honour to send you are a memento 
exactly of the same kind that he indulged in. 

It may be more owing to the fastidiousness of 
my caprice, than the delicacy of my taste, but I 
am so often tired, disgusted, and hurt with the 
insipidity, affectation, and pride of mankind, that 
when I meet with a person ' after my own heart,' 
I positively feel what an orthodox protestant 
would call a species of idolatry, which acts on my 
fancy like inspiration ; and I can no more desist 
rhyming on the impulse, than an Eolian harp can 
refuse its tones to the streaming air. A distich or 
two would be the consequence, though the object 
which hit my fancy were grey-bearded age ; but 
where my theme is youth and beauty, a young 
lady whose personal charms, wit, and sentiment, 
are equally striking and unaffected, by heavens! 
though I had lived three score years a married 
man, and three score years before I was a married 
man, my imagination would hallow the very idea ; 
and I am truly sorry that the enclosed stanzas 
have done such poor justice to such a subject. 



{ 121 ) 

No. 62. 
TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD. 

December, 1787. 

Sir, 

Mr. Mckenzie, in IVIauchllne, my 
very warm and worthy friend, has informed me 
how much you are pleased to interest yourself in 
my fate as a man, and, (what to me is incom- 
parably dearer) my fame as a poet. I have. Sir, 
in one or two instances, been patronized by those 
of your character in life, when I was introduced 
to their notice by ***** * friends to them, and 
honoured acquaintances to me; but you are the 
first gentleman in the country whose benevolence 
and goodness of heart has interested him for me, 
unsolicited and unknown. 1 am not master 
enough of the etiquette of these matters to know, 
nor did I stay to enquire, whether formal duty 
bade, or cold propriety disallowed, my thanking 
you in this manner, as I am convinced, from the 
light in which you kindly view me, that you will 
do me the justice to believe this letter is not the 
manoeuvre of the needy, sharping author, fasten- 
ing on those in upper life, who honour him with 
a little notice of him or his works. Indeed the 
situation of poets is generally such, to a proverb, 
as may, in some measure, palliate that prostitution 
of heart and talents they have at times been guilty 
of. 1 do not think prodigality is, by any means, 
6 R 



( 122 ) 

a necessary concomitant of a poetic turn, but 1 
believe a careless, indolent inattention to economy, 
is almost inseparable from it : then there must be 
in the heart of every bard of nature's making, a 
certain modest sensibility, mixed with a kind of 
pride, that will ever keep him out of the way of 
those windfalls of fortune, which frequently light 
on hardy impudence and foot-licking servility. It 
is not easy to imagine a more helpless state than 
his, whose poetic fancy unfits him for the world, 
and whose character as a scholar gives him some 
pretensions to the politesse of life — yet is as poor 
as I am. 

For my part, I thank Heaven, my star has 
been kinder; learning never elevated my ideas 
above the peasant's shed, and I have an inde- 
pendent fortune at the plough-tail. 

I was surprised to hear that any one, who pre- 
tended in the least to the manners of the gentle- 
man, should be so foolish, or worse, as to stoop to 
traduce the morals of such a one as I am, and so 
inhumanely cruel, too, as to meddle with that 
late most unfortunate, unhappy part of my story. 
With a tear of gratitude, I thank you. Sir, for 
the warmth with which you interposed in behalf 
of my conduct. I am, I acknowledge, too fre- 
quently the sport of whim, caprice, and passion — 
but reverence to God, and integrity to my fellow- 
creatures, I hope I shall ever preserve. I have no 
return, Sir, to make you for your goodness but 
one — a return which, I am persuaded, will not be 
unacceptable — the honest, warm wishes of a grate- 
ful heart for your happiness, and every one of that 
lovely flock, who stand to you in a filial relation. 



( 123 ) 

If ever calumny aim the poisoned shaft at them, 
may friendship be by to ward the blow ! 



No. 63. 
FROM MR. G. BURNS. 

Mossgiel, 1st January, 1789. 

Dear Brother, 

Jl have just finished my new-year's 
day breakfast in the usual form, which naturally 
makes me call to mind the days of former years, 
and the society in which we used to begin them ; 
and when I look at our family vicissitudes, 'thro' 
the dark pdstern of time long elapsed,' 1 cannot 
help remarking to you, my dear brother, how 
good the God of Seasons is to us; and that, 
however some clouds may seem to lour over the 
portion of time before us, we have great reason to 
hope that all will turn out well. 

Your mother and sisters, with Robert the 
second, join me in the compliments of the season 
to you and Mrs. Burns, and beg you will remem- 
ber us in the same manner to William, the first 
time you see him. 

I am, dear brother, yours, 

GILBERT BURNS, 



( 124 ) 

No. 64. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

EUisla?id, New-Year-Dai/ Morning, 1789- 

Jl his. Dear Madam, is a morning of 
wishes, and would to God that I came under the 
apostle James's description ! — the prayer of a 
righteous man availeth much. In that case. 
Madam, you should welcome in a year full of 
blessings: every thing that obstructs or disturbs 
tranquillity and self-enjoyment, should be re- 
moved, and every pleasure that frail humanity 
can taste, should be yours. I own myself so little 
a Presbyterian, that I approve of set times and 
seasons of more than ordinary acts of devotion, for 
breaking in on that habituated routine of life and 
thought, which is so apt to reduce our existence 
to a kind of instinct, or even sometimes, and with 
some minds, to a state very little superior to mere 
machinery. 

This day ; the first Sunday of May ; a breezy, 
blue-skyed noon sometime about the beginning, 
and a hoary morning and calm sunny day about 
the end of autumn; — these, time out of mind, 
have been with me a kind of holiday. 

* ^ * * * tK- * 

I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in 
the Spectator. *The Vision of Mirza;' a piece 
that struck my young fancy before I was capable 
of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables : ' On 
the 5th day of the moon, which, according to the 



i 125 ) 

custom of my fore-fathers, I always keep holy^ 
after having washed myself, and offered up my 
morning devotions, I ascended the high hill of 
Bagdad, in order to pass the rest of the day in 
meditation and prayer.' 

We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the 
substance or structure of our souls, so cannot ac- 
count for those seeming caprices in them, that 
one should be particularly pleased with this thing, 
or struck with that, which, on minds of a different 
cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have 
some favourite flowers in spring, among which 
are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox- 
glove, the wild briar-rose, the budding birch, and 
the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over 
with particular delight. I never hear the loud, 
solitary whistle of the curlew, in a summer noon, 
or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey 
plover, in an autumnal morning, without feeling 
an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devo- 
tion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what 
can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, 
which, like the Eolian harp, passive, takes the 
impression of the passing accident ? Or do these 
workings argue something within us above the 
trodden clod ? I own myself partial to such proofs 
of those awful and important realities — a God 
that made all things — man's immaterial and im- 
mortal nature — and a world of weal or woe be- 
yond death and the grave. 



( 126 ) 

No. 65. 
TO DR. MOORE. 

Ellislandf near Dumfries, 
Uk Jan. 1789. 

Sir, 

As often as I think of writing to you, 
which has been three or four times every week 
these six months, it gives me something so like 
the idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering at a 
conversation with the Rhodian colossus, that my 
mind misgives me, and the affair always mis- 
carries somewhere between purpose and resolve. 
I have, at last, got some business with you, and 
business-letters are written by the style-book. I 
say my business is with you, Sir, for you never 
had any with me, except the business that bene- 
volence has in the mansion of poverty. 

The character and employment of a poet were 
formerly my pleasure, but are now my pride. I 
know that a very great deal of my late eclat was 
owing to the singularity of my situation, and the 
honest prejudice of Scotsmen ; but still, as 1 said 
in the preface of my first edition, I do look upon 
myself as having some pretensions from nature to 
the poetic character. I have not a doubt but the 
knack, the aptitude to learn the muses' trade, is 
a gift bestowed by him * who forms the secret 
bias of the soul;' — but I as firmly believe, that 
ecccellence in the profession is the fruit of industry, 
labour, attention, and pains. At least I am re- 



( 127 ) 

solved lo try my doctrine by the test of experience. 
Another appearance from the press I put off to a 
very distant day, a day that may never arrive — 
but poesy I am determined to prosecute with all 
my vigour. Nature has given very few, if any, 
of the profession, the talents of shining in every 
species of composition. I shall try (for until trial 
it is impossible to know) whether she has qualified 
me to shine in any one. The worst of it is, by 
the time one has finished a piece, it has been so 
often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye, 
that one loses, in a good measure, the powers of 
critical discrimination. Here the best criterion I 
know is a friend — not only of abilities to judge, 
but with good nature enough, like a prudent 
teacher with a young learner, to praise perhaps a 
little more than is exactly just, lest the thin-skin- 
ned animal fall into that most deplorable of all 
poetic diseases — heart-breaking despondency of 
himself. Dare I, Sir, already immensely indebt- 
ed to your goodness, ask the additional obligation 
of your being that friend to me? 1 inclose you an 
essay of mine, in a walk of poesy to me entirely 
new ; I mean the epistle addressed to R. G. esq. 
or Robert Graham, of Fintry, esq. a gentleman of 
uncommon worth, to whom I lie under very great 
obligations. The story of the poem, like most of 
my poems, is connected with my own story, and 
to give you the one, I must give you something 

of the other. I cannot boast of 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

I believe I shall, in whole, £100 copy-right in- 
cluded, clear about £400 some little odds; and 
even part of this depends upon what the gentle- 



( 128 ) 

man has yet to settle with me. I give you this 
information, because you did me the honour to 

interest yourself much in my welfare. 

****** 

To give the rest of my story in brief, I have 
married ' my Jean' and taken a farm : with the 
first step I have every day more and more reason 
to be satisfied ; with the last, it is rather the re- 
verse. I have a younger brother, who supports 
my aged mother; another still younger brother, 
and three sisters in a farm. On my last return 
from Edinburgh, it cost me about £180 to save 
them from ruin. Not that I have lost so much — 
I only interposed between my brother and his 
impending fate by the loan of so much. I give 
myself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness 
on my part : I was conscious that the wrong scale 
of the balance was pretty heavily charged, and I 
thought that throwing a little filial piety, and fra- 
ternal affection, into the scale in my favour, might 
help to smooth matters at the grand-reckoning. 
There is still one thing would make my circum- 
stances quite easy : I have an excise officer's com- 
mission, and I live in the midst of a country 
division. My request to Mr. Graham, who is one 
of the commissioners of excise, was, if in his 
power, to procure me that division. If I were 
very sanguine, I might hope that some of my 
great patrons might procure me a treasury war- 
rant for supervisor, survey er-general, &c. 
* » * * * * 

Thus, secure of a livelihood, 'to thee, sweet 
poetry, delightful maid,' I would consecrate my 
future days. 



( 129 ) 

No. 66. 
TO PROFESSOR D. STEWART. 

EUislaiid, near Dumfries, 9.0th. Jan. 1789- 

Sir, 

X HE enclosed sealed packet 1 sent to 
Edinburgh a few days after I had the happiness 
of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone 
for the Continent. I have added a few more of 
my productions, those for which I am indebted 
to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece inscribed to 
R. G. esq. is a copy of verses I sent Mr, Graham, 
of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assist- 
ance in a matter, to me, of very great moment. 
To that gentleman I am already doubly indebted, 
for deeds of kindness of serious im]X)rt to my 
dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the 
delicate feelings of sensibility. This poem is a 
species of composition new to me ; but I do not 
intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you 
w^ill see by the * Poet's Progress.' These frag- 
ments, if my design succeeds, are but a small part 
of the intended whole. I propose it shall be the 
work of my utmost exertions ripened by years: 
of course I do not wish it much known. The 
fragment, beginning * A little, upright, pert, 
tart,' (S:c., I hav« not shewn to man living, till 
now I send it you. It forms the postulata, the 
axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it 
appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
This particular part I send you merely as a sample 

S 



( 130 ) 

of my hand at portrait-sketching; but lest idle 
conjecture should pretend to point out the origi- 
nal, please let it be for your single, sole inspection. 
Need I make any apology for this trouble to a 
gentleman who has treated me with such marked 
benevolence and peculiar kindness ; who has enter- 
ed into my interests with so much zeal, and on 
whose critical decisions I can so fully depend ? A 
poet as I am by trade, these decisions to me are 
of the last consequence. My late transient ac- 
quaintance among some of the mere rank and file 
of greatness, I resign with ease ; but to the dis- 
tinguished champions of genius and learning, I 
shall be ever ambitious of being known. The 
native genius and accurate discernment in Mr. 
Stewart's critical strictures; the justness (iron 
justice, for he has no bowels of compassion for a 
poor poetic sinner) of Dr. Gregory's remarks, and 
the delicacy of professor Dalzel's taste, I shall ever 
revere. I shall be in Edinburgh some time next 
month. 

I have the honour to be, Sir, 
Your highly obliged, and very humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



( 131 ) 

No. 67. 
TO BISHOP GEDDES. 

Ellisland, Jicar Dumfries, 3d Feb. 1789- 
X^ENERABLE FaTHER, 

As I am conscious that wherever I am 
you do me the honour to interest yourself in my 
welfare, it gives me pleasure to inform you, that 
I am here at last, stationary in the serious busi- 
ness of life, and have now not only the retired 
leisure, but the hearty inclination, to attend to 
those great and important questions — what I am? 
where I am ? and for w4iat I am destined ? 

In that first concern, the conduct of the man, 
there was ever but one side on which I was ha- 
bitually blameable, and there I have secured my- 
self in the way pointed out by nature and nature's 
God. I was sensible that, to so helpless a creature 
as a poor poet, a wife and a family were incum- 
brances, which a species of prudence would bid 
him shun ; but wiien the alternative was, being 
at eternal warfare with myself, on account of 
habitual follies, to give them no worse name, 
which no general example, no licentious wit, no 
sophistical infidelity, would, to me, ever justify, 
I must have been a fool to have hesitated, and a 
madman to Ifive made another choice. 

-» * -)if * Tif * 

In the aifair of a livelihood, I think myself 
tolerably secure : I have good hopes of my farm, 



( 132 ) 

but should they fail, I have an excise commission, 
which, on my simple petition, will, at any time, 
procure me bread. There is a certain stigma 
affixed to the character of an excise officer, but I 
do not intend to borrow honour from any pro- 
fession ; and though the salary be comparatively 
small, it is great taany thing that the first twenty- 
five years of my life taught me to expect. 
*• * -^- -^- * * * 

Thus, with a rational aim and method in life, 
you may easily guess, my reverend and much- 
honoured friend, that my characteristical trade is 
not forgotten ; I am, if possible, more than ever 
an enthusiast to the muses. 1 am determined to 
study man and nature, and in that view incess- 
antly ; and to try if the ripening and corrections 
of years can enable me to produce something 
worth preserving. 

You will see in your book, which I beg your 
pardon for detaining so long, that I have been 
tuning my lyre on the banks of Nith. Some 
larger poetic plans that are floating in my imagi- 
nation, or partly put in execution, I shall impart 
to you when I have the pleasure of meeting with 
you : which, if you are then in Edinburgh, I shall 
have about the begiiming of March. 

That acquaintance, worthy Sir, with which you 
were pleased to honour me, you must still allow 
me to challenge ; for with whatever Mnconcern I 
give up my transient connection with the merely 
Great, I cannot lose the patronizing notice of the 
learned and the good, without the bitterest regret. 



( 133 ) 

No. 68. 
TO MRS DUNLOP. 

ElUsland, 4>th March, 1789. 

Here am I, my honoured friend, re- 
turned safe from the capital. To a man, who has 
a home, however humble or remote — if that home 
is like mine, the scene of domestic comfort — the 
bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a business of 
sickening disgust. 

' Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you !' 

When I must skulk into a corner, lest the ratt- 
ling equipage of some gaping blockhead should 
mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim — 
* What merits has he had, or what demerit have 
I had, in some state of pre-existence, that he is 
ushered into this state of being with the sceptre of 
rule, and the key of riches, in his puny fist, and I 
am kicked into the world, the sport of folly, or 
the victim of pride?' I have read somewhere of a 
monarch, (in Spain I think it was) who was so 
out of humour with the Ptolomean system of as- 
tronomy, that he said, had he been of the Crea- 
tor's council, he could have saved him a great 
deal of labour and absurdity. I will not defend 
this blasphemous speech; but often, as I have 
glided with humble stealth through the pomp of 
Princes' street, it has suggested itself to me, as an 
improvement on the present human figure, that a 
man, in proportion to his own conceit of his con- 



( 134 ) 

sequence in the world, could have pushed out the 
longitude of his common size, as a snail pushes 
out his horns, or as we draw out a perspective. 
This trifling alteration, not to mention the pro- 
digious saving it would be in the tear and wear of 
the neck and limb-sinews of many of his majesty's 
liege subjects, in the way of tossing the head and 
tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn out a vast 
advantage, in enabling us at once to adjust the 
ceremonials in making a bow, or making way to 
a great man, and that too within a second of the 
precise spherical angle of reverence, or an inch of 
the particular point of respectful distance, which 
the important creature itself requires; as a mea- 
suring-glance at its towering altitude would de- 
termine the affair like instinct. 

You are right, madam, in your idea of poor 
Mylne's poem, Vvhich he has addressed to me. 
The piece has a good deal of merit, but it has one 
great fault — it is, by far, too long. Besides my 
success has encouraged such a shoal of ill-spawned 
monsters to crawl into public notice, under the 
title of Scottish poets, that the very term Scottish 
poetry borders on the burlesque. When I write 
to Mr. C******, I shall advise him rather to try 
one of his deceased friend's English pieces. I am 
prodigiously hurried with my own matters, else I 
would have requested a perusal of all Mylne's 
poetic performances ; and would have offered his 
friends my assistance in either selecting or correct- 
ing what would be proper for the press. What it 
is that (K'cupies me so much, and perhaps a little 
oppresses my present spirits, shall fill up a para- 
graph in some future letter. In the mean time 



( 135 ) 

allow me to close this epistle with a few lines done 
by a friend of mine ^ * * * * I give you 
them, that, as you have seen the original, you 
may guess whether one or two alterations I have 
ventured to make in them, be any real improve- 
ment. 

Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws, 
Shrink mildly fearful even from applause. 
Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream. 
And all you are, my charming ****, seem. 
Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose. 
Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows. 
Fair as the ftn'rest of each lovely kind, 
Your form shall be the image of your mind ; 
Your manners shall so true your soul express. 
That all shall long to know the worth they guess ; 
Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love. 
And even sick'ning envy must approve.* 



No. 69. 
TO THE REV. P. CARFRAE. 

1789. 



Rev. Sir, 



I 



DO not recollect that I have ever felt 
a severer pang of shame, than on looking at the 
date of your obliging letter which accompanied 
Mr. Mylne's poem. 



* These beautiful lines, it is believed, are the production of 
the lady to whom this letter is addressed. 



( 136 ) 

I am much to blame : the honour Mr. Mylne has 
done me, greatly enhanced in its value by the 
endearing though melancholy circumstance of its 
being the last production of his muse, deserved a 
better return. 

I have, as you hint, thought of sending a copy 
of the poem to some periodical publication ; but, on 
second thoughts, I am afraid that, in the present 
case, it would be an improper step. My suc- 
cess, perhaps as much accidental as merited, has 
brought an inundation of nonsense under the 
name of Scottish poetry. Subscription-bills for 
Scottish poems have so dunned, and daily do dun, 
the public, that the very name is in danger of 
contempt. For these reasons, if publishing any 
of Mr. Mylne's poems in a magazine, &c. be at 
all prudent, in my opinion, it certainly should 
not be a Scottish poem. The profits of the la- 
bours of a man of genius are, I hope, as honour- 
able as any profits whatever ; and Mr. Mylne's 
relations are most justly entitled to that honest 
harvest which fate has denied himself to reap. 
But let the friends of Mr. Mylne's fame (among 
whom I crave the honour of ranking myself) al- 
ways keep in eye his respectability as a man and 
as a poet, and take no measure that, before the 
world knows any thing about him, would risk his 
name and character being classed with the fools of 
the times. 

I have, Sir, some experience of publishing, and 
the way in which I would proceed with Mr. 
Mylne's poems is this: I would pubhsh in two or 
three English and Scottish public papers, any one 
of his English poems which should by private 



( 137 ) 

judges, be thought the most excellent, and men- 
tion it, at the same time, as one of the productions 
of a Lothian farmer, of respectable character, lately 
deceased, whose poems his friends had it in idea 
to publish, soon, by subscription, for the sake of 
his numerous family ; — not in pity to that family, 
but in justice to what his friends think the poetic 
merits of the deceased ; and to secure, in the most 
effectual manner, to those tender connections, 
whose right it is, the pecuniary reward of those 
merits. 



Sir, 



No. 70. 
TO DR. MOORE. 

ElUdand, 23d Marcky 1789. 



i HE gentleman who will deliver you 
this is a !Mr. Neilson, a worthy clergyman in my 
neighbourhood, and a very particular acquaintance 
of mine. As I have troubled him with this packet, 
1 must turn him over to your goodness, to recom- 
pense him for it in a way in which he much needs 
your assistance, and where you can effectually 
serve him : — Mr. Neilson is on his way for France 
to wait on his grace of Queensberry, on some little 
business of a good deal of importance to him, and 
he wishes for your instructions respecting the 
most eligible mode of travelling, kc. for him, 
when he has crossed the channel. I should not 

T 



( 138 ) 

have dared to take this liberty with you, but that 
1 am told by those who have the honour of your 
personal acquaintance, that to be a poor honest 
Scotchman is a letter of recommendation to you, 
and that to have it in your power to serve such a 
character, gives you much pleasure. 

^ ¥fi * ¥,r * * 

The enclosed ode is a compliment to the me- 
mory of the late ]Mrs. ^-***** of «-»-^:^«^***-»*. You, 
probably, knew her personally, an honour of 
which I cannot boast ; but I spent my early years 
in her neighbourhood, and among her servants 
and tenantSj I know that she was detested with 
the most heartfelt cordiality. However, in the 
particular part of her conduct which roused my 
poetic wrath, she was much less blameable. In 
January last, on my road to Ayrshire, I had put 
up at Bailie Whigham's, in Sanquhar, the only 
tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, 
and the grim evening, and howling w^ind, w^ere 
ushering in a night of snow and drift. My horse 
and I were both much fatigued with the labours 
of the day, and just as my friend the Bailie and I 
were bidding defiance to the storm, over a smoak- 
ing bowl, in wdieels the funeral pageantry of the 

late great Mrs. , and poor I am forced to 

brave all the horrors of the tempestuous night, 
and jade my horse, my yomig favourite horse, 
whom 1 had just christened Pegasus, twelve miles 
further on, through the wildest moors and hills of 
Ayrshire, to New Cumnock, the next inn. The 
pow ers of poesy and prose sink under me, w^hen I 
would describe what I felt. Suffice it to say, that 



( 139 ) 

when a good fire, at New Cumnock, had so far 
recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote 
the inclosed ode * 

I was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally 
with Mr. Creech ; and I must own, that, at last, 
he has been amicable and fair with me. 



No. 71. 
TO MR. HILL. 



Ellisland, 9,d April, 1789. 

X WILL make no excuses, my dear 
Bibliopolis, (God forgive me for murdering lan- 
guage !) that I have sat down to write you on this 
vile paper. 

^ v^ 7^ 1^ y^ y^ 

It is economy. Sir; it is that cardinal virtue, 
prudence ; so I beg you will sit down, and either 
compose or borrow a panegyric. If you are going 

to borrow, apply to 

* * « * * ^ 

to compose, or rather to compound, something 
very clever on my remarkable frugality ; that I 
write to one of my most esteemed friends on this 
wretched paper, which was originally intended 
for the venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to 
take dirty notes in a miserable vault of an ale- 
cellar. 

* * Dweller in yon dungeon dark/ &c. — See poems p. 156, ^j M A 



( 140 ) 

O Frugality ! thou mother often thousand bless- 
ings — thou cook of fat beef and dainty greens ! — 
thou manufacturer of warm Shetland hose, and 
comfortable surtouts ! — thou old housewife, darn- 
ing thy decayed stockings with thy ancient spec- 
tacles on thy aged nose ! — lead me, hand me in thy 
clutching palsied fist, up those heights, and through 
those thickets, hitherto inaccessible, and impervi- 
ous to my anxious, weary feet; — not those Par- 
nassian craggs, bleak and barren, where the hungry 
worshippers of fame are, breathless, clambering, 
hanging between heaven and hell ; but those glit- 
tering cliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all- 
powerful deity, Wealth, holds his immediate court 
of joys and pleasures ; where the sunny exposure 
of plenty, and the hot walls of profusion, produce 
those blissful fruits of luxury, exotics in this world, 
and natives of paradise! — Thou withered sybil, 
my sage conductress, usher me into the refulgent, 
adored presence ! — The power, splendid and potent 
as he now is, was once the puling nursling of thy 
faithful care, and tender arms ! Call me thy son, 
thy cousin, thy kinsman, or favourite, and adjure 
the god by the scenes of his infant years, no longer 
to repulse me as a stranger, or an alien, but to 
favour me with his peculiar countenance and pro- 
tection ! He daily bestows his greatest kindnesses 
on the undeserving and the worthless — assure him, 
that I bring ample documents of meritorious de- 
merits ! Pledge yourself for me, that, for the 
glorious cause of Lucre, I will do any thing, be 
any thing — but the horse-leech of private oppres* 
sion, or the vulture of public robbery ! 

7F ^jr tIv /F "^ -K TJf 



( 141 ) 

But to descend from heroics, 

* -» * -^ * * 

1 want a Shakespeare ; I want likewise an English 
dictionary — Johnson's, I suppose, is best. In 
these and all my prose commissions, the cheapest 
is always the best for me. There is a small debt 
of honour that I owe ]\Ir. Robert Cleghorn, in 
Saughton mills, my worthy friend and yoUr w^ell- 
wisher. Please give him, and urge him to take 
it, the first time you see him, ten shillings, worth 
of any thing you have to sell, and place it to my 
account. 

The library scheme that I mentioned to you, is 
already begun, under the direction of Captain 
Riddel. There is another in emulation of it going 
on at Closeburn, under the auspices of JNIr. Mon- 
teith, of Closeburn, which will be on a greater 
scale than ours. Captain R. gave his infant so- 
ciety a great many of his old books, else 1 had 
written you on that subject; but, one of these 
days, I shall trouble you with a commission for 
' The Monkland Friendly Society'— a copy of The 
Spectator, Mirror, and Lounger ; Man of Feel- 
ing, Man of the World, Guthrie's Geographical 
Grammar, with some religious pieces, will likely 
be our first order. 

When I grow richer, I will write to you on gilt 
post, to make amends for this sheet. At present, 
every guinea has a five guinea errand with. 
My dear Sir, 
Your faithful, poor, but honest friend, 

R. B, 



{ 142 ) 

No. 72. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, Uh April, 1789- 

X NO sooner hit on any poetic plan or 
fancy, but I wish to send it to you ; and if know- 
ing and reading these give half the pleasure to 
you, that communicating them to you gives to 
me, I am satisfied. 

* * •» * 7^ i^ 

I have a poetic whim in my head, which I at 
present dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the Right 
Hon. C. J. Fox; but how long that fancy may 
hold, I cannot say. A few of the first lines I have 
just rough-sketched as follows : 

' How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite/ &c.— 

See poems, p. 253. 

* * * ^ * -5^ 

On the 20th current I hope to have the honour 
of assuring you, in person, how sincerely I am. 



Sir, 



( 143 ) 

No. 73. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellisland Mh May, 1789- 



JL OUR duty-free favour of the 26th 
April I received two days ago ; I will not say I 
perused it with pleasure ; that is the cold compli- 
ment of ceremony ; I perused it. Sir, with deli- 
cious satisfaction — In short it is such a letter, that 
not you, nor your friend, but the legislature, by 
express proviso in their postage laws, should frank. 
A letter informed with the soul of friendship is 
such an honour to human nature, that they should 
order it free ingress and egress to and from their 
bags and mails, as an encouragement and mark 
of distinction to super-eminent virtue. 

I have just put the last hand to a little poem 
which I think will be something to your taste. 

One morning lately, as I was out pretty early 
in the fields sowing some grass seeds, 1 heard the 
burst of a shot from a neighbouring plantation, 
and presently a poor little wounded hare came 
crippUng by me. You will guess m)^ indignation 
at the inhuman fellow who could shoot a hare at 
this season, when they all of them have young 
ones. Indeed there is something in that business 
of destroying for our sport individuals in the ani- 
mal creation that do not injure us materially, 
which I could never reconcile to my ideas of virtue. 



( 144 ) 

' Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art/ &c.— 

See poems, p. 151. /f"/' 

Let me know how you like my poem. I am 
doubtful whether it would not be an improvement 
to keep out the last stanza but one altogether. 

C is a glorious production of the author of 

man. You, he, and the noble Colonel of the 
C F are to me 

' Dear as the ruddy drops which warm the breast.' 

I have a good mind to make verses on you all, to 
the tune of, ' Three glide felloivs ay out the glen* 



No. 74. 
TO MR. M'AULEY OF DUMBARTON. 

UhJujie, 1785. 

Dear Sir, 

A HOUGH I am not without my fears 
respecting my fate, at that grand, universal in- 
quest of right and wrong, commonly called The 
Last Day, yet I trust there is one sin, which that 
arch- vagabond, Satan, who I understand is to be 
king's evidence, cannot throw in my teeth, I mean 
inglbtitude. There is a certain pretty large quan- 
tum of kindness for which I remain, and from in- 
abihty, I fear must still remain, your debtor; but 
though unable to repay the debt, I assure you, 
sir, I shall ever warmly remember. the obligation. 
It gives me the sincerest pleasure to hear, by my 



( 145 ) 

old acquaintance, Mr. Kenned}^ that you are, in 
immortal Allan's language, * Hale and weel, and 
living ;' and that your charming family are well, 
and promising to be an amiable and respectful 
addition to the company of performers, whom the 
great Manager of the drama of Man is bringing 
into action for the succeedincp age. 

With respect to my welfare, a subject in which 
you once warmly and effectively interested your- 
self, I am here in my old way, holding my plough, 
marking the growth of my corn, or the health of 
my dairy ; and at times sauntering by the delight- 
ful windings of the Nith, on the margin of which 
I have built my humble domicile, praying for 
seasonable weather, or holding an intrigue with 
the Muses ; the only gipseys with whom I have 
now any intercourse. As I am entered into the 
holy state of matrimony, I trust my face is tur»ed 
completely Zion-ward ; and as it is a rule with all 
honest fellows, to repeat no grievances, I hope 
that the little poetic licences of former days, will 
of course fall under the oblivious influence of some 
good-natured statute of celestial proscription. In 
my family devotion, which like a good presbyte- 
rian, I occasionally give to my household folks, I 
am extremely fond of the psalm, * Let not the 
errors of my youth," <kc. and that other, 'Lo, 
children are God's heritage," &:c. in which last 
Mrs. Burns, who by the bye, has a glorious 
" wood-note wild" at either old song or psalmody, 
joins me with the pathos of Handel's Messiah. 



U 



( 146 ) 

No. 75. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 21st Jufw, 1789. 

Dear Madam, 

TT ILL you take the effusions, the mi- 
serable effusions of low spirits, just as they flow 
from their bitter spring. I know not of any 
particular cause for this worst of all my foes be- 
setting me, but for some time my soul has been 
beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of evil 

imaginations and gloomy presages. 

***** ^- 

Monday Evening, 
I have just heard * * * * * giyg ^ ser- 
mon. He is a man famous for his benevolence, 
and 1 revere him ; but from such ideas of my 
Creator, good Lord deliver me ! Religion, my 
honoured friend, is surely a simple business, as it 
equally concerns the ignorant and the learned, the 
poor and the rich. That there is an incompre- 
hensible Great Being, to whom I owe my exist- 
ence, and that he must be intimately acquainted 
with the operations and progress of the internal 
machinery, and consequent outward deportment 
of this creature which he has made ; these are, I 
think, self-evident propositions! That there is a 
real and eternal distinction between virtue and 
vice, and consequently that I am an accountable 
creature ; that from the seeming nature of the 
human mind, as well as from the evident imper- 



( 147 ) 

fection, nay, positive injustice, in the administra- 
tion of affairs, both in the natural and moral 
worlds, there must be a retributive scene of exist- 
ence beyond the grave ; must, 1 think, be allowed 
by every one who w411 give himself a moment's 
reflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that 
from the sublimity, excellence, and purity of his 
doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all the 
aggregated wisdom and learning of many pre- 
ceding ages, though to appearance, he himself 
was the obscurest and most illiterate of our 
species ; therefore, Jesus Christ was from God. 

yk #^ ^ *^ ^ "^ 

Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the 
happiness of others, this is my criterion of good- 
ness ; and whatever injures society at large, or any 
individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity. 

What think you. Madam, of my creed? I 
trust that I have said nothing that will lessen me 
in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value 
almost next to the approbation of my own mind. 



No. 76. 
FROM DR. ]MOORE. 

CUfford-street, lOih June, 1789. 

Dear Sir, 

X THANK you for the different com- 
munications you have made me of your occasional 
productions in manuscript, all of which have 
merit, and some of them merit of a different kind 



( 148 ■) 

from what appears in the poems you have pub- 
lished. You ought carefully to preserve all your 
occasional productions, to correct and improve 
them at your leisure ; and when you can select as 
many of these as will make a volume, publish it 
either at Edinburgh or London, by subscription ; 
on such an occasion, it may be in my power, as it 
is very much in my inclination, to be of service 
to you. 

If I were to offer an opinion, it would be, that 
in your future productions you should abandon 
the Scottish stanza and dialect, and adopt the 
measure and language of modern English poetry. 

The stanza which you use in imitation of Chinst 
kirk on the green, with the tiresome repetition of 
' that day,' is fatiguing to English ears, and I 
should think not very agreeable to Scottish. 

All the fine satire and humour of your Holy 
Fair is lost on the English ; yet, without more 
trouble to yourself, you could have conveyed the 
whole to them. The same is true of some of your 

other poems. In your Epistle to J. S , the 

stanzas, from that beginning with this line, ' This 
life, so far's I understand,' to that which ends 
with, * Short while it grieves,' are easy, flowing, 
gaily philosophical, and of Horatian elegance — 
the language is English, with a few Scottish 
words, and some of those so harmonious, as to 
add to the beauty ; for what poet would not pre- 
fer gloaming to twilight, 

I imagine, that by carefully keeping, and oc- 
casionally polishing and correcting those verses, 
which the INluse dictates, you will within a year 
or two, have another volume as large as the first, 



( 149 ) 

ready ^or the press; and this, without diverting 
you from every proper attention to the study and 
practice of husbandry, in which I understand you 
are very learned, and which I fancy you will 
chuse to adhere to as a wjfe, w^hile poetry amuses 
you from time to time as a mistress. The former, 
like a prudent wife, must not shew ill humour, 
although you retain a sneaking kindness to this 
agreeable gipsey, and pay her occasional visits, 
which in no manner alienates your heart from 
your lawful spouse, but tend on the contrary to 
promote her interest. 

I desired iVIr. Cadell to write to Mr. Creech to 
send you a copy of Zehico. This performance has 
had great success here, but I shall be glad to have 
your opinion of it, because I value your opinion, 
and because I know you are above saying what 
you do not think. 

I beg you will offer my best wishes to my very- 
good friend, Mrs. Hamilton, who I understand is 
your neighbour. If she is as happy as I wish her, 
she is happy enough. Make my compliments also 
to INIrs. Burns, and believe me to be, with sincere 
esteem, 

Dear Sir, Yours, &c. 



( 150 ) 

No. 77. 
FROM MR. ****** 

LojidoHj 5th August, 1789. 

My dear Sir, 

JbiXCUSE me when I say, that the un- 
common abilities which you possess, must render 
your correspondence very acceptable to any one. 
I can assure you, I am particularly proud of your 
partiality, and shall endeavour by every method 
in my power, to merit a continuance of your 
politeness. 

y^ Tjr Tjc" Tfr Tjr ijr 

When you can spare a few moments I should 
be proud of a letter from you, directed for me, 

Gerard-street, Soho. 

^ * ^ ^ ^ ^ 

I cannot express my happiness sufficiently at 
the instance of your attachment to my late in- 
estimable friend, Bob Ferguson, who was parti- 
cularly intimate with myself and relations.* 
While I recollect with pleasure his extraordinary 
talents, and many amiable qualities, it affords me 
the greatest consolation, that I am honoured with 
the correspondence of his successor in national 
simplicity and genius. That Mr. Burns has re- 
fined in the art of poetry, must readily be ad- 
mitted; but notwithstanding many favourable 

* The erection of a monument to him. 



( 151 ) 

representations, I am yet to learn that he inherits 
his convivial powers. 

There was such a richness of conversation, such 
a plentitude of fancy and attraction in him, that 
when I call the happy period of our intercourse to 
my memory, I feel myself in a state of delirium. 
I was then younger than him by eight or ten 
years, but his manner was so felicitous, that he 
enraptured every person around him, and infused 
into the hearts of the young and old, the spirit 
and animation which operated on his own mind. 
I am. Dear Sir, Yours, &c. 



No. 78. 
TO MR. ****** 
In answer to tlie foregoing. 
My dear Sir, 

X HE huny of a farmer in this particular 
season, and the indolence of a poet at all times 
and seasons, will, 1 hope, plead my excuse for 
neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter 
of the fifth of August. 

That you have done well in quitting your 
laborious concern in * * * * 1 do not doubt ; 
the weighty reasons you mention, w^ere, I hope 
very, and deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and 
your health is a matter of the last importance; 
but whether the remaining proprietors of the 
paper have also done w^ell, is what I much doubt. 



( 152 ) 

The * * * * so far as I was a reader, exhibited 
such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of 
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that 
I can hardly conceive it possible to continue a 
daily paper in the same degree of excellence ; but 
if there was a man who had abilities equal to the 

task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost. 

* ^ « * ^ ^ 

When I received your letter I was transcribing 
for * * * *, my letter to the magistrates of the 
Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their permission 
to place a tomb-stone over poor Ferguson, and 
their edict in consequence of my petition, but 
now I shall send them to * ^ ^ * * *. Poor 
Ferguson ! If there be a life beyond the grave, 
which I trust there is ; and if there be a good God 
presiding over all nature, which I am sure there 
is ; thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious 
world, where worth of the heart alone is distinction 
in the man ; where riches, deprived of all their 
pleasure-purchasing powers, return to their native 
sordid matter; where titles and honours are the 
disregarded reveries of an idle dream ; and where 
that heavy virtue, w4iich is the negative conse- 
quence of steady dulness, and those thoughtless, 
though often destructive follies, which are the 
unavoidable abberrations of frail human nature, 
will be thrown into equal oblivion as if they had 
never been ! 

Adieu, my dear Sir ! So soon as your present 
views and schemes are concentred in an aim, I 
shall be glad to hear from you ; as your welfare 
and happiness is by no means a subject indifferent 
to Yours, &c. 



{153 ) 

^o. 79. 
TO MISS WILLIAMS. 

1789. 

Madam, 

\JF the many problems in the nature of 
that wonderful creature, jNIan, this is one of the 
most extraordinary, that he shall go on from day 
to day, from week to week, from month to month, 
or perhaps from year to year, suffering a hundred 
times more in an hour from the impotent con- 
sciousness of neglecting what he ought to do, 
than the very doing of it would cost him. I am 
deeply indebted to you, first for a most elegant 
poetic compliment f then for a polite obliging 
letter ; and, lastly, for your excellent poem on the 
Slave-Trade ; and yet, wretch that I am ! though 
the debts \vere debts of honour, and the creditor 
B lady, I have put off and put off even the very 
acknowledgment of the obligation, imtil you must 
indeed be the very angel I take you for, if you 
can forgive me. 

Your poem I have read with the highest plea- 
sure. I have a way, whenever I read a book, I 
mean a book in our own trade, jNIadam, a poetic 
one, and when it is my own property, that I take 
a pencil and mark at the ends of verses, or note on 
margins and odd paper, little criticisms of appro- 

* See page 40. 

X 



( 154 ) 

bation or disapprobation as I peruse along. I 
will make no apology for presenting you with a 
few unconnected thoughts that occurred to me in 
my repeated perusals of your poem. I want to 
shew you that I have honesty enough to tell you 
what I take to be truths, even when they are not 
quite on the side of approbation ; and I do it in 
the firm faith, that you have equal greatness of 
mind to hear them with pleasure. 

I had lately the honour of a letter from Dr. 
Moore, where he tells me that he has sent me 
some books. They are not yet come to hand, 
but I hear they are on the way. 

Wishing you all success in your progress in the 
path of fame ; and that you may equally escape 
the danger of stumbling through incautious speed, 
or losing ground through loitering neglect, 
I have the honour to be, &c. 



No. 80. 
FROM MISS WILLIAMS. 

Ith August, 1789. 

Dear Sir, 

JL do not lose a moment in returning 
you my sincere acknowledgments for your letter, 
and your criticism on my poem, which is a very 
flattering proof that you have read it with atten- 
tion. I think your objections are perfectly just, 
except in one instance 



( 155 ) 

You have indeed been very profuse of panegyric 
on my little performance. A much less portion 
of applause from you would have been gratifying 
to me; since I think its value depends entirely 
upon the source from whence it proceeds — the in- 
cense of praise, like other incense, is more grateful 
from the quality, than the quantity of the odour. 

I hope you still cultivate the pleasures of poetry, 
which are precious, even independent of the re- 
wards of fame. Perhaps the most valuable pro- 
perty of poetry is its power of disengaging the 
mind from worldly cares, and leading the imagi- 
nation to the richest springs of intellectual enjoy- 
ment; since, however frequently life may be 
checquered with gloomy scenes, those who truly 
love the ]Muse can always find one little path 
adorned with flowers and cheered by sunshine. 



No. 81. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Elli^land, 6th Sept. I789. 

Dear Madam, 

Jl HAVE mentioned in my last, my ap- 
pointment to the excise, and the birth of little 
Frank, who, by the bye, I trust will be no dis- 
credit to the honourable name of Wallace, as he 
has a fine manly countenance, and a figure that 
might do credit to a little fellow two months 
older; and likewise an excellent good temper; 



( 156- ) 

though when he pleases he has a pipe, only not 
quite so loud as the horn that his immortal name- 
sake blew as a signal to take out the pin of Stirling 
bridge. 

I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, 
and part prosaic, from your poetess, Mrs. J. L — , 
a very ingenious, but modest composition. I 
should have written her as she requested, but for 
the hurry of this new business. I have heard of 
her and her compositions in this country ; and I 
am happy to add, always to the honour of her 
character. The fact is, I know not well how to 
write to her : I should sit down to a sheet of 
paper that I knew not how to stain. I am no 
dab at fine-drawn letter-writing ; and except when 
prompted by friendship or gratitude, or which 
happens extremely rarely, inspired by the Muse 
(I know not her name) that presides over epistolary 
writing, I sit down, when necessitated to write, 
as I would sit down to beat hemp. 

Some parts of your letter of the 20th August, 
struck me with the most melancholy concern for 

the state of your mind at present. 

-» * * ^- ^ * 

Would I could write you a letter of comfort ! I 
would sit down to it with as much pleasure, as I 
would to write an epic poem of my own compo- 
sition, that should equal the Iliad. Keligion, my 
dear friend, is a true comfort ! A strong per- 
suasion in a future state of existence ; a propo- 
sition so obviously probable, that, setting revela- 
lation aside, every nation and people, so far as 
investigation has reached, for at least near four 
thousand years, have, in some mode or other. 



( 157 ) 

firmly believed it. In vain would we reason and 
pretend to doubt. I have myself done so to a 
very daring pitch ; but when 1 reflected, that I 
was opposing the most ardent wishes, and the 
most darling hopes of good men, and flying in the 
face of all human belief, in all ages, I was shocked 
at my own conduct. 

I know not whether I have ever sent you the 
following lines, or if you have ever seen them ; 
but it is one of my favourite quotations, which I 
keep constantly by me in my progress through 
life, in the language of the book of Job, 

' Against the day of battle and of war' — 
spoken of religion. 

* 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright, 

'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night. 

When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few ; 

When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue ; 

'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart. 

Disarms affliction, or repels his dart ; 

Within the breast bids purest raptures rise. 

Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.' 

I have been very busy with Zehico. The Doc- 
tor is so obliging as to request my opinion of it ; 
and I have been revolving in my mind some kind 
of criticisms on novel-writing, but it is a depth 
beyond my research. I shall however digest my 
thoughts on the subject as well as I can. Zehico 
is a most sterling performance. 

Farewell! A Dieu, le bon Dieii, je vous 
commende I 



( 158 ) 

No. 82. 
TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY. 

9ik December, IJSg. 

Sir, 

M, HAVE a good while had a wish to 
trouble you with a letter, and had certainly done 
it long ere now — but for a humiliating something 
that throws cold water on the resolution ; as if one 
should say, * You have found Mr. Graham a very 
powerful and kind friend indeed, and that interest 
he is so kindly taking in your concerns, you ought 
by every thing in your power to keep alive and 
cherish.' — Now, though since God has thought 
proper to make one powerful and another helpless, 
the connection of obliger and obliged is all fair ; 
and though my being under your patronage is to 
me highly honourable, yet. Sir, allow me to flatter 
myself, that, as a poet and an honest man, you 
first interested yourself in my welfare, and prin- 
cipally as such still, you permit me to approach 
you. 

I have found the excise business go on a great 
deal smoother with me than 1 expected ; owing a 
good deal to the generous friendship of Mr. JNlit- 
chell, my collector, and the kind assistance of Mr. 
Findlater, my supervisor. I dare to be honest, 
and I fear no labour. Nor do 1 find my hurried 
life greatly inimical to my correspondence with 
the Muses. Their visits to me, indeed, and I 
believe to most of their acquaintance, like the 



( 159 ) 

visits of good angels, are short and far between ; 
but I meet them now and then as I jog through 
the hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to do on the 
banks of Ayr. I take the liberty to enclose you 
a few bagatelles, all of them the productions of 
my leisure thoughts in my excise rides. 

If you know or have ever seen Captain Grose, 
the antiquarian, you will enter into my humour 
that is in the verses on him. Perhaps you have 
seen them before, as I sent them to a London 
newspaper. Though I dare say you have none of 
the solemn-league-and-covenant fire, which shone 
so conspicuous in lord George Gordon, and the 
Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you must have 
heard of Dr. M*GilI, one of the clergymen of Ayr, 
and his heretical book. God help him, poor man ! 
Though he is one of the worthiest, as well as one 
of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk 
of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous 
term, yet the poor Doctor and his numerous 
family are in imminent danger of being thrown 
ou£ to the mercy of the winter-winds. The in- 
closed ballad on that business is I confess too local, 
but I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though 
I am convinced in my conscience that there are a 
good many heavy stanzas in it too. 

The election ballad, as you will see, alludes to 
the present canvas in our string of boroughs. I 
do not believe there will be such a hard run match 
in the whole general election.* 



* This alludes to the contest for the borough of Dumfries, 
between the duke of Queensberry's interest and that of Sir 
James Johnstone. 



( 160 ) 

1 am too little a man to have any political at- 
tachments; I am deeply indebted to, and have 
the warmest veneration for, individuals of both 
parties, but a man who has it in his power to be 
the father of a country, and who ***** 
* * is a character that one cannot speak of 
with patience. 

Sir. J. J. does 'what man cdn do,' but yet I 
doubt his fate. 



No. 83. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellislajidy 13th December, 1789- 

JVlANY thanks, dear Madam, for your 
sheet-full of rhymes. Though at present I am 
below the veriest prose, yet from you every thing 
pleases. I am groaning under the miseries of a 
diseased nervous system; a system the state of 
which is most conducive to our happiness — or the 
most productive of our misery. For now near 
three weeks I have been so ill with a nervous 
head-ache, that I have been obliged to give up for 
a time my excise-books, being scarce able to lift 
up my head, much less to ride once a week over 
ten muir parishes. AVhat is Man ! To-day, in 
the luxuriance of health, exulting in the enjoy- 
ment of existence; in a few days, perhaps in a 
few hours, loaded with conscious painful being, 
counting the tardy pace of the lingering moments 



( 161 ) 

by the repercussions of anguish, and refusing or 
denied a comforter. Day follows night, and night 
comes after day, only to curse him with life which 
gives him no pleasure; and yet the awful, dark 
termination of that life, is a something at which 
he recoils. 

' Tell us, ye dead ; will none of you in pity 

Disclose the secret 

What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be! 

'tis no matter : 

A little time will make us learii'd as you are/ 

Can it be possible, that when I resign this frail, 
feverish being, I shall still find myself in conscious 
existence! When the last gasp of agony has 
announced, that I am no more to those that knew 
me, and the few who loved me ; when the cold, 
stiffened, unconscious, ghastly corse is resigned 
into the earth, to be the prey of unsightly reptiles, 
and to become in time a trodden clod, shall I yet 
be warm in life seeing and seen, enjoying and en- 
joyed ? Ye venerable sages, and holy flamens, is 
there probability in your conjectures, truth in 
your stories, of another w orld beyond death ? or 
are they all alike, baseless visions and fabricated 
fables ? If there is another life, it must be only 
for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the 
humane ; what a flattering idea, then, is a world 
to come ! Would to God I as firmly believed it, 
as I ardently w^ish it ! There I should meet an 
aged parent, now at rest from the many buffetings 
of an evil world, against which he so long and so 
bravely struggled. There should I meet the 
friend, tlie disinterested friend of my early life ; 

Y 



( 162 ) 

the man who rejoiced to see me, because he loved 

me and could serve me Muir ! thy weaknesses 

were the abberrations of human nature, but thy 
heart glowed with every thing generous, manly, 
and noble ; and if ever emanation from the All- 
good Being animated a human form, it was 
thine .'—There should I with speechless agony of 
rapture, again recognize my lost, my ever dear- 
]\lary ! whose bosom was fraught with truth, 
honour, constancy, and love. 

My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of heavenly rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters ! I 
trust thou art no im.postor, and that thy revelation 
of blissful scenes of existence beyond death and 
the grave, is not one of the many impositions 
which time after time have been palmed on credu- 
lous mankind. I trust that in ' thee shall all the 
families of the earth be blessed,' by being yet con- 
nected together in a better world, where every tie 
that bound heart to heart, in this state of exist- 
ence, shall be, far beyond our present conceptions, 
more endearing. 

I am a good deal inclined to think with those 
who maintain, that what are called nervous af- 
fections are in fact diseases of the mind. I cannot 
reason, I cannot think ; and but to you I would 
not venture to write any thing above an order to 
a cobler. You have felt too much of the ills of 
life not to sympathize with a diseased wretch, who 



( 163 ) 

is impaired more than half of any faculties he pos- 
sessed. Your goodness will excuse this distracted 
scrawl, which the writer dare scarcely read, and 
which he would throw into the fire, were he able to 
write any thing better, or indeed any thing at all. 

Rumour told me something of a son of yours 
who was returned from the East or West Indies. 
If you have gotten news of James or Anthony, it 
was cruel in you not to let me know ; as I promise 
you, on the sincerity of a man, who is weary of 
one world and anxious about another, that scarce 
any thing could give me so much pleasure as to 
hear of any good thing befalling my honoured 
friend. 

If you have a minute's leisure, take up your 
pen in pity to le pauvre viiserable. R. B. 



No. 84. 
TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR. 

SlTl, 

X HE following circumstance has, I be- 
lieve, been omitted in the statistical account, 
transmitted to you, of the parish of Dunscore, in 
Nithsdale. I beg leave to send to you, because it 
is new, and may be useful. How far it is de- 
serving of a place in your patriotic publication, 
you are the best judge. 

To store the minds of the lower classes with 
useful knowledge, is certainly of very great im- 



( 164 ) 

portance^ both to them as individuals, and to 
society at large. Giving them a turn, for reading 
and reflection, is giving them a source of innocent 
and laudable amusement ; and besides, raises them 
to a more dignified degree in the scale of ration- 
ality. Impressed vvdth this idea, a gentleman in 
this parish, Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, 
set on foot a species of circulating library, on a 
plan so simple as to be practicable in any corner 
of the country; and so useful, as to deserve the 
notice of every country gentleman, who thinks 
the improvement of that part of his own species, 
whom chance has thrown into the humble walks 
of the peasant and the artisan, a matter worthy of 
his attention. 

Mr. Riddel got a number of his own tenants, 
and farming neighbours, to form themselves into 
a society for the purpose of having a library among 
themselves. They entered into a legal engage- 
ment to abide by it for three years ; with a saving 
clause or two, in case of removal to a distance, or 
of death. Each member, at his entry, paid five 
shillings : and at each of their meetings, which 
were held every fourth Saturday, sixpence more. 
With their entry money, and the credit which 
they took on the faith of 'their future funds, they 
laid in a tolerable stock of books at the commence- 
ment. What authors they were to piu'chase, was 
always decided by the majority. At every meet- 
ing, all the books, under certain fines and for- 
feitures, by way of penalty, were to be produced ; 
and the members had their choice of the volumes 
In rotation. He w hose name stood for that night, 
iirst on the list^ had his choice of what volume he 



{ 165 ) 

pleased in the whole collection ; the second had 
his choice after the first ; the third after the second, 
and so on to the last. At next meeting, he who 
had been first on the list at the preceding meeting, 
was last at this ; he who had been second was 
first; and so on through the whole three years. 
At the expiration of the engagement, the books 
were sold by auction, but only among the mem- 
bers themselves; and each man had his share of 
the common stock, in money or in books, as he 
chose to be a purchaser or not. 

At the breaking up of this little society, which 
was formed under Mr. Riddel's patronage, what 
with benefactions of books from him, and what 
with their own purchases, they had collected to- 
gether upwards of one hundred and fifty volumes. 
It will easily be guessed, that a good deal of trash 
would be bought. Among the books, however, 
of this little library, Avere, Blair's Sermons. 
Robertson's History of Scotland, Hume's Flistory 
of the Steiioarts, The Spectator, Idler, Adventurer, 
3Ii7^ror, Lounger, Observer, Man of Feeling, 
Man of the World, Chrysal, Don Quixote, Joseph 
Andrews, S^c. A peasant who can read, and en- 
joy such books, is certainly a much superior being 
to his neighbour, who perhaps stalks beside his 
team, very little removed, except in shape, from 
the brutes he drives. 

Wishing your patriotic exertions their so much 
merited success, 

I am, Sir, your humble servant, 

A PEASANT.* 

* The above is extracted from the third volume of Sir 
John Sinclair's Statistics, p. 598. — It was enclosed to Sir 



( 166 ) 

No. 85. 

TO CHARLES SHARPS ESQ. OF HODDOM. 

Under a ^fictitious Signature, eiiclosing a ballad, 
1790 or 1791. 

JLT is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of 
rank and fortune, and I am a poor devil : you are 
a feather in the cap of society, and I am a very 
hobnail in his shoes ; yet I have the honour to be- 
long to the same family with you, and on that 
score I now address you. You will perhaps sus- 
pect that I am going to claim affinity with the 
ancient and honourable house of Kilpatrick : No, 
no, Sir : I cannot indeed be properly said to be- 

John by Mr. Riddel himself in the following letter, also printed 
there. 

' Sir John, — I inclose you a letter, written by Mr. Burns, as 
an addition to the account of Dunscore parish. It contains an 
account of a small library, which he was so good (at my desire) 
as to set on foot, in the barony of Monkland, or Friar's Carse, 
in this parish. As its utility has been felt particularly among 
the younger class of people, I think, that if a similar plan were 
established, in the different parishes of Scotland, it would tend 
greatly to the speedy improvement of the tenantry, trades peo- 
ple, and work people. Mr. Burns was so good as to take the 
whole charge of this small concern. He was treasurer, librarian, 
and censor, to this little society, who will long have a grateful 
sense of his public spirit and exertions for their improvement 
and information. 

1 liave the honour to be. Sir John, 

Yniu*s most sincerely, 
ROBERT RIDDEL.' 
To Sir. John Sinclair, of Ulhstcr, Barl. 



( 167 ) 

long to any house, or even any province or king- 
dom ; as my mother, who for many years was 
spouse to a marching regiment, gave me into this 
bad world, aboard the packet boat, somewhere 
between Donaghadee and Portpatrick. By our 
common family, I mean. Sir, the family of the 
Muses. I am a fiddler and a poet; and you, I 
am told, play an exquisite violin, and have a 
standard taste in the Belles Lettres. The other 
day, a brother catgut gave me a charming Scots 
air of your composition. If I was pleased with 
the tune, I was in raptures with the title you have 
given it ; and, taking up the idea, I have spun it 
into the three stanzas enclosed. You will allow 
me. Sir, to present you them, as the dearest offer- 
ing that a misbegotten son of poverty and rhyme 
has to give ? 1 have a longing to take you by the 
hand and unburden my heart, by saying — * Sir, I 
honour you as a man who supports the dignity of 
human nature, amid an age when frivolity and 
avarice have, between them, debased us below the 
brutes, that perish !' But, alas. Sir ! to me you 
are unapproachable. It is true, the Muses bap- 
tized me in Castalian streams, but the thoughtless 
gipseys forgot to give me a name. As the sex 
have served many a good fellow, the Nine have 
given me a great deal of pleasure, but, bewitching 
jades ! they have beggared me. Would they but 
spare me a little of their cast-linen ! were it only 
to put it in my power to say that I have a shirt 
on my back ! But the idle wenches, like Solo- 
mon's lilies, 'they toil not, neither do they spin ;' 
so I must e'en continue to tie my remnant of a 
cravat, like the hangman's rope, round my naked 



( 168 ) 

throat, and coax my galligaskins to keep together 
their many-coloured fragments. As to the affair 
of shoes, I have given that up. — My pilgrimages 
in my ballad-trade from town to town, and on 
your stony-hearted turnpikes too, are what not 
even the hide of Job's Behemoth could bear. The 
coat on my back is no more : I shall not speak evil 
of the dead. It would be equally unhandsome 
and ungrateful to find fault with my old surtout, 
which so kindly supplies and conceals the want of 
that coat. My hat indeed is a great favourite; 
and though I got it literally for an old song, I 
would not exchange it for the best beaver in Bri- 
tain. I was, during several years, a kind of fac- 
totum servant to a country clergyman, where I 
pickt up a good many scraps of learning, particu- 
larly in some branches of the mathematics. When- 
ever I feel inclined to rest myself on my way, I 
take my seat under a hedge, laying my poetic 
wallet on my one side, and my fiddle-case on the 
other, and placing my hat between my legs, I can 
by means of its brim, or rather brims, go through 
the w^hole doctrine of the Conic Sections. 

However, Sir, don't let me mislead you, as if I 
would interest your pity. Fortune has so much 
forsaken me, that she has taught me to live with- 
out her; and, amid all my rags and poverty, I 
am as independent, and much more happy than a 
monarch of the world. According to the hack- 
neyed metaphor, I value the several actors in the 
great drama of life, simply as they act their parts. 
I can look on a worthless fellow of a duke with 
unqualified contempt ; and can regard an honest 
scavenger with sincere respect. As you, Sir, go 



( 169 ) 

tlirough your role with such distinguislied merit, 
permit me to make one in the chorus of universal 
applause, and assure you that, with the highest 
respect, 

I have the honour to be, &c. 



No. 86. 
TO MR. GILBERT BURNS. 

ElUsla7id, Wih JaJiuary, 1790. 

Dear Brother, 

M. MEAN to take advantage of the frank, 
though I have not in my present frame of mind 
much appetite for exertion in vrriting. My nerves 
are in a * ^•^" * * state. I feel that horrid hypo- 
chondria pervading every atom of both body and 
soul. This farm has undone my enjoyment of 
myself It is a ruinous affair on all hands. But 
let it go to **** ! 111 fio ht it out and be off with it 
AVe have gotten a set of very decent players 
here just now. I have seen them an evening or 
two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by 
the manager of the company, a Mr. Sutherland, 
who is a man of apparent worth. — On New-year- 
day evening I gave him the following Prologue, 
which he spouted to his audience with applause. 

' No song nor dance I bring from yon great city/ &c. 

See poems, p. 258. 

I can no more. — If once I was clear of this * * 
* * farm, I should respire more at ease. 
8 Z 



( 170 ) 

No. 87. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 25th Jammri/, 1790. 

XT has been owing to unremitting hurry 
of business that I have not written to you, Ma- 
dam, long ere now. My health is greatly better, 
and I now begin once more to share in satisfaction 
and enjoyment with the rest of my fellow-creatures. 
Many thanks, my much esteemed friend, for 
your kind letters : but why will you make me run 
the risk of being contemptible and mercenary in 
my own eyes? When 1 pique myself on my in- 
dependent spirit, I hope it is neither poetic licence, 
nor poetic rant ; and I am so flattered witlr the 
honour you have done me, in making me your 
compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, 
that I cannot wdthout pain, and a degree of mor- 
tification, be reminded of the real inequality be- 
tween our situations. 

Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear 
Madam, in the good new^s of Anthony. Not 
only your anxiety about his fate, but my own 
esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly 
young fellow, in the little I had of his acquaint- 
ance, has interested me deeply in his fortunes. 

Falconer, the unfortunate author of the Ship- 
tvreck, which you so much admire, is no more. 
After weathering the dreadful catastrophe he so 
feelingly describes in his poem, and after wea- 
thering many hard gales of fortune, he went to 



( 171 ) 

the bottom with the Aurora frigate! I forget 
what part of Scotland had the honour of giving 
hitn birth, but he was the son of obscurity and 
misfortune. He was one of those dai'ing adven- 
turous spirits, which Scotland beyond any other 
country is remarkable for producing. Little does 
the fond mother think, as she hangs delighted 
over the sweet little leech at her bosom, where 
the poor fellow may hereafter wander, and what 
may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old 
Scottish ballad, which, notwithstanding its rude 
simplicity, speaks feelingly to the heart: 

' Little did my mother think. 

That day she cradled me, 
WTiat land I was to travel in, 

Or what death I should die !' 

Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite 
study and pursuit of mine : and now I am on that 
subject, allow me to give you two stanzas of ano- 
ther old simple ballad, which I am sure will please 
you. The catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruin- 
ed female, lamenting her fate. She concludes 
with this pathetic wish : 

' O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd ; 

O that my mother had ne'er to me sung ! 
O that my cradle had never been rock'd ; 

But that I had died when I was young ! 

O that the grave it were my bed ; 

My blankets were my winding sheet ; 
The clocks* and the worms my bedfellows a,' ; 

And O sae sound as I should sleep !' 

* Beetle*. 



( IT^ ) 

I do not remember in all my reading to have 
met with any thing more truly the language of 
misery, than the exclamation in the last line. 
Misery is like love ; to speak its language truly, 
the author must have felt it. 

I am every day expecting the doctor to give 
your little godson* the small pox. They are rife 
in the country, and I tremble for his fate. By 
the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his 
looks and spirit. Every person who sees him, ac- 
knowledges him to be the finest, handsomest child 
he has ever seen. 1 am myself delighted with the 
manly swell of his little chest, and a certain minia- 
ture dignity in the carriage of his head, and the 
glance of his fine black eye, which promise the 
undaunted gallantry of an independent mind. 

I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but 
time forbids. I promise you poetry until you are 
tired of it, next time I have the honour of assuring 
you how truly I am, (Sec. 



No. 88. 
FROM MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

^Sth January J 1790. 

In some instances it is reckoned unpar.. 
donable to quote any one's own words, but the 
value I have for your friendship, nothing can 
more truly or more elegantly express, than 

* The bard's second's son^ Francis. 



( 173 ) 

' Time but the impression stronger makes. 
As stieams their channels deeper wear.' 

Having written to you twice without having 
heard from you, I am apt to think my letters have 
miscarried. My conjecture is only framed upon 
the chapter of accidents turning up against me, as 
it too often does, in the trivial, and I may ^vith 
truth add, the more important affairs of life ; but 
I shall continue occasionally to inform you what 
is goino' on amoncr the circle of vour friends in 
these parts. In these days of merriment, I have 
frequently heard your name prGclaimed at the 
jovial board — under the roof of our hospitable 
friend at Stenhouse-mills, there were no 

' Lingering moments number'd with care.' 

I saw your Adchess to the Xeii:-year in the 
Dumfries Journal, Of your productions I shall 
say nothing, but my acquaintances alledge, that 
when your name is mentioned, which every man 
of celebrity must know often happens, I am the 
champion, the Mendoza, against all snarling critics, 
and narrow-minded reptiles, of whom a feic on 
this planet do craicL 

With best compliments to your wife, and her 
black-eyed sister, I remain yours, kc. 



( 174 ) 

No. 89. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

EUisland, 13th February, 1790. 

X BEG your pardon, my dear and much 
valued friend, for writing to you on this very un- 
fashionable, unsightly sheet — 

* My poverty but not my will consents.* 

But to make amends, since of modish post I 
have none, except one poor widowed half-sheet of 
gilt, which lies in my drawer among my plebeian 
fool's-cap pages, like the widow of a man of fashion, 
whom that unpolite scoundrel, Necessity, has 
driven from Burgundy and Pine-apple, to a dish 
of Bohea, with the scandal-bearing help-mate of a 
village priest ; or a glass of whisky-toddy, with 
the ruby- nosed yoke-fellow of a foot-padding ex- 
ciseman — I make a vow to inclose this sheet-full 
of epistolary fragments in that my only scrap of 
gilt-paper. 

I am indeed your unworthy debtor for three 
friendly letters. I ought to have written to you 
long ere now, but it is a literal fact, I have scarcely 
a spare moment. It is not that I will not write to 
you ; Miss Burnet is not more dear to her guar- 
dian angel, nor his grace the duke of *****^**** 
to the powers of *******, than my friend Cun- 
ningham to me. It is not that I cannot write to 
you; should you doubt it, take the following 



( 175 ) 

fragment which was intended for you some time 
ago, and be convinced that I can aniithesize sen- 
timent, and circumvolute periods, as well as any 
coiner of phrase in the regions of philology. 

December, 1789- 

My dear Cunnixgha:m, 

Where are you ? And what are you do- 
ing? Can you be that son of levity, who takes up 
a friendship as he takes up a fashion ? or are you, 
like some other of the worthiest fellows in the 
world, the victim of indolence, laden with fetters 
of ever-increasing weight ? 

What strange beings we are I Since we have a 
portion of conscious existence, equally capable of 
enjoying pleasure, happiness, and rapture, or of 
suffering pain, wretchedness and misery, it is 
surely worthy of an inquiry, whether there be not 
such a thing as a science of life; whether method, 
economy, and fertility of expedients, be not appli- 
cable to enjoyment ; and whether there be not a 
Vv'ant of dexterity in pleasure, which renders our 
little scantling of happiness still less ; and a pro- 
fuseness, an intoxication in bliss, which leads to 
satiety, disgust, and self-abhorrence. There is 
not a doubt but that health, talents, character, 
decent competency, respectable friends, are real 
substantial blessings ; and yet do we not daily see 
those who enjoy many or all of these good things, 
contrive notwithstanding to be as unhappy as 
others to whose lot few of them have fallen. I 
believe one great source of this mistake or miscon- 
duct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called 
ambition, which goads us up the hill of life, not 



( 176 ) 

as we ascend other eminences, for the laudable 
curiosity of viewing an extended landscape, but 
rather for the dishonest pride of looking down on 
others of our fellow-creatures, seemingly diminu- 
tive, in humbler stations, &c. &c. 



Sunday, \Uh February, 1790. 

God help me ! I am now obliged to join 

' Night to day, and Sunday to the week.' 

If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of these 
churches, I am ***-*^* past redemption, and what 
is worse, ****** to all eternity. I am deeply read 
in Boston's Four-fold State, Marshall on Sancii' 
Ucaiion, Guthrie's Trial of a Saving Interest, 8^c. 
but * There is no balm in Gilead, there is no phy- 
sician there,' for me; so I shall e'en turn Armi- 
nian, and trust to 'sincere though imperfect 
obedience.' 



Tuesday, \^ih. 

Luckily for me I was prevented from the 
discussion of the knotty point at which I had just 
made a full stop. All my fears and cares are of 
this world : if there is another, an honest man has 
nothing to fear from it. I hate a man that wishes 
to be a Deist; but 1 fear, every fair, unprejudiced 
inquirer must in some degree be a Sceptic. It is 
not that there are any very staggering arguments 
against the immortality of man ; but like electri- 
city, phlogiston, &c. the subject is so involved in 
darkness, that we want data to go upon. One 
thing frightens me much ; that we are to live for 



( 177 ) 

ever, seems too good nen's to be true. That we 
are to enter into a new scene of existence, where, 
exempt from want and pain we shall enjoy our- 
selves and our friends without satiety or separa- 
tion — how much should I be indebted to any one 
who could fully assure me that this was certain ! 

^ 7^ ^ -jjj * -Jif 

My time is once more expired. I will write to 
Mr. Cleghorn soon. God bless him and all his 
concerns ! And may all the powers that preside 
over conviviality and friendship, be present with 
all their kindest influence, when the bearer of this, 
Mr. Syme, and you meet ! I wish I could also 
make one. — I think we should be * * * * 

Finally, brethren, farewell ! Whatsoever things 
are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, whatso- 
ever things are charitable, whatsoever things are 
kind, think on these things, and think on 

ROBERT BURNS. 



No. 90. 
TO MR. HILL, 

EUisla?2d, 2d March, 179a 

At a late meeting of the Monkland 
Friendly Society, it was resolved to augment their 
library by the following books, which you are to 
send us as soon as possible: — The 3Ii?T07% The 
Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, 
(these for my own sake I wish to have by the first 
carrier) Knox's History of the Beformation ; Rae's 

s'a 



( 178 ) 

History of the Rebellion in 1715 ; any good HiS" 
tory of the Rebellion in 1745; A Display of the 
Secession Act and Testimony, by Mr. Gib ; Har- 
vey's Meditations, Beveridge's Thoughts; and 
another copy of Watson's Body of Divinity. 

I wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four 
months ago, to pay some money he owed me into 
your hands, and lately I wrote to you to the same 
purpose, but I have heard from neither one nor 
other of you. 

In addition to the books I commissioned in my 
last, I want very much, A71 Index to the Excise 
Laws, 0?' an Abridgement of all the Statutes now 
in force, relative to the Excise, by Jellinger Sy- 
mons ; I want three copies of this book ; if it is 
now to be had, cheap or dear, get it for me. An 
honest country neighbour of mine wants too, A 
Family Bible, the larger the better, but second- 
handed, for he does not chuse to give above ten 
shillings for the book. I want likewise for myself, 
as you can pick them up, second-handed or cheap, 
copies of Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben Johnson's, 
Dry den's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, 
Gibber's, or any Dramatic Works of the more 
modern, Macklin, Garrick, Foote, Colman, or 
Sheridan, A good copy too of Moliere, in 
French, I much want. Any other good dramatic 
authors in that language I want also; but comic 
authors chiefly, though I should wish to have 
Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire too. I am in no 
hurry for all, or any of these, but if you acci- 
dentally meet with them very cheap, get them 
for me. 



( 179 ) 

And now, to quit the dry walk of business, how 
do you do, my dear friend ? and how is Mrs. Hill ? 
I trust if now and then not so elegantly handsome, 
at least as amiable, and sings as divinely as ever. 
My good wife too has a charming 'wood-note 

wild ;' now could we four 

* * * * ^ ^ 

I am out of all patience with this vile world, 
for one thing. Mankind are by nature benevolent 
creatures ; except in a few scoundrelly instances, I 
do not think that avarice of the good things we 
chance to have, is bom with us; but we are 
placed here amid so much nakedness, and hunger, 
and poverty, and want, that we are under a cursed 
necessity of studying selfishness, in order that we 
may exist ! Still there are, in every age, a few 
souls, that all the wants and woes of life cannot 
debase to selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy 
of caution and prudence. If ever I am in danger 
of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on this 
side of my disposition and character. God knows 
I am no saint ; I have a whole host of follies and 
sins to answer for ; but if I could, and I believe I 
do it as far as I can, I would wipe away all tears 
from all eves. Adieu ! 



( 180 ) 

No. 91. 
TO MRS. DUNLOR 

ElUsland, lOtk April, 1790. 

X HAVE just now, my ever honoured 
friend, enjoyed a very high luxury, in reading a 
paper of the Lounger. You know my national 
prejudices. I had often read and admired the Spec- 
tator, Adventurer, Rambler, and World; but still 
with a certain regret, that they were so thoroughly 
and entirely English. Alas ! have I often said to 
myself, what are all the boasted advantages which 
my country reaps from the union, that can coun- 
terbalance the annihilation of her independence, 
and even her very name ! I often repeat that 
couplet of my favourite poet, Goldsmith — 

' States of native liberty possest, 

Tho' very poor^ may yet be very blest.' 

Nothing can reconcile me to the common terms, 

* English ambassador, English court,' &c. And I 
am out of all patience to see that equivocal charac- 
ter, Hastings, impeached by 'the Commons of 
England.' Tell me, my friend, is this weak pre- 
judice ? I believe in my conscience, such ideas as> 

* my country ; her independence ; her honour ; 
the illustrious names that mark the history of my 
native land;' &c. — I believe these, among your 
men of the vcorld ; men who in fact guide for the 
most part and govern our world, are looked on as 
so many modifications of wrongheadedness. They 



( 181 ) 

know the use of bawling out such terms, to rouse 
or lead the rabble : but for their own private 
use, with almost all the able statesmen that ever 
existed, or now exist, when they talk of right and 
wrong, they only mean proper and improper ; and 
their measure of conduct is, not what they ought, 
but what they dare. For the truth of this I shall 
not ransack the history of nations, but appeal to 
one of the ablest judges of men, and himself 
one of the ablest men that ever lived — the cele- 
brated earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a man who 
could thoroughly control his vices whenever they 
interfered with his interest, and who could com- 
pletely put on the appearance of every virtue as 
often as it suited his purposes, is, on the Stanho- 
pian plan, the perfect man ; a man to lead nations. 
But are great abiUties, complete without a flaw, 
and polished without a blemish, the standard of 
human excellence ? This is certainly the staunch 
opinion o^ men of the wo?'Id ; but I call on honour, 
virtue, and worth, to give the stygian doctrine a 
loud negative! However, this must be allowed, 
that, if you abstract from man the idea of an ex- 
istence beyond the grave, then, the true measure 
of human conduct is prope?^ and imp?'oper : Virtue 
and vice, as dispositions of the heart, are, in that 
case, of scarcely the same import and value to the 
w^orld at large, as harmony and discord in the 
modifications of sound ; and a delicate sense of 
honour, like a nice ear for music, though it may 
sometimes give the possessor an ecstacy unknown 
to the coarser organs of the herd, yet, considering 
the harsh gratings, and inharmonic jars, in this 
ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the indivi- 



{ 182 ) 

dual would be as happy, and certainly would be 
as much respected by the true judges of society, 
as it would then stand, without either a good ear 
or a good heart. 

You must know I have just met with the Mir- 
ror and Lounger for the first time, and 1 am quit^ 
in raptures with them ; I should be glad to have 
your opinion of some of the papers. The one I 
have just read, Lounger, No. 61, has cost me 
more honest tears than any thing I have read of a 
long time. M*Kenzie has been called the Addison 
of the Scots, and in my opinion, Addison would 
not be hurt at the comparison. If he has not 
Addison's exquisite humour, he as certainly out- 
does him in the tender and pathetic. His Man of 
Feeling (but I am not counsel learned in the laws 
of criticism) I estimate as the first performance in 
its kind I ever saw. From what book, moral or 
even pious, will the susceptible young mind re- 
ceive impressions more congenial to humanity and 
kindness, generosity and benevolence; in short, 
more of all that ennobles the soul to herself, or 
endears her to others — than from the simple affect- 
ing tale of poor Harley. 

Still, with all my admiration of M'Kenzie's 
writings, I do not know if they are the fittest 
reading for a young man who is about to set out, 
as the phrase is, to make his way into life. Do 
not you think, Madam, that among the few fa- 
voured of heaven in the structure of their minds, 
(for such there certainly are) there may be a purity, 
a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance of soul, which 
are of no use, nay, in some degree, absolutely 
disqualifying for the truly important business of 



( 183 ) 

making a man's way into life. If I am not much 
mistaken, my gallant young friend, A******, is 
very much under these disqualifications ; and for 
the young females of a family I could mention, 
well may they excite parental solicitude, for I, a 
common acquaintance, or as my vanity will have 
it, an humble friend, have often trembled for a 
turn of mind which may render them eminently 
happy — or peculiarly miserable ! 

I have been manufacturing some verses lately ; 
but as I have orot the most hurried season of ex- 
else business over, I hope to have more leisure to 
transcribe any thing that may shew how much I 
have the honour to be, 

Madam, Yours, &:c. 



Sir, 



No. 92. 
TO DR. MOORE. 

Dumfries J Excise-affice, I4:tk July, 1790. 



V^O^IING into town this morning, to 
attend my duty in this office, it being collection 
day, I met with a gentleman who tells me he is 
on his way to London ; so I take the opportunity 
of writing to you, as franking is at present under 
a temporary death. I shall have some snatches of 
leisure through the day, amid our horrid business 
and bustle, and I shall improve them as well as I 
can ; but let my letter be as stupid as * * * * * 



( 184 ) 



* as miscellaneous as a news-paper, as short 
as a hungry grace-before-meat, or as long as a law- 
paper in the Douglas cause ; as ill spelt as country 
John's billet-doux, or as unsightly a scrawl as 
Betty Byre-mucker's answer to it; I hope, con- 
sidering circumstances, you will forgive it; and 
as it will put you to no expence of postage, I shall 
have the less reflection about it. 

I am sadly ungrateful, in not returning you my 
thanks for your most valuable present, Zeluco. 
In fact, you are in some degree blameable for my 
neglect. You were pleased to express a wish for 
my opinion of the w^ork ; which so flattered me, 
that nothing less would serve my over-weening 
fancy, than a formal criticism on the book. In 
fact, I have gravely planned a comparative view 
of you. Fielding, Richardson, and SmoUet, in 
your different qualities and merits as novel-writers. 
This, I own, betrays my ridiculous vanity, and I 
may probably never bring the business to bear; 
but I am fond of the spirit young Elihu shews in 
the book of Job—* And 1 said, I will also declare 
my opinion.' I have quite disfigured my copy of 
the book with my annotations. I never take it 
up without at the same time taking my pencil, 
and marking with asterisms, parentheses, &c. 
wherever I meet with an original thought, a ner- 
vous remark on life and manners, a remarkably 
well turned period, or a character sketched with 
uncommon precision. 

Though I shall hardly think of fairly writing 
out my * Comparative view,' I shall certainly 
trouble you with my remarks, such as they are. 



( 185 ) 

I have just received from my gentleman, that 
horrid summons in the book of Revelations — 
* That time shall be no more I' 

The little collection of sonnets have some charm- 
ing poetry in them. If indeed I am indebted to 
the fair author for the book, and not, as I rather 
suspect, to a celebrated author of the other sex, I 
should certainly have written to the lady, with 
my grateful acknowledgments, and my own ideas 
of the comparative excellence of her pieces. I 
would do this last, not from any vanity of think- 
ing that my remarks could be of much consequence 
to Mrs. Smith, but merely from my own feelings 
as an author, doing as I would be done by. 



No. 93. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

8/A August, 1790. 

Dear Madam, 

After a long day's toil, plague, and 
care, I sit down to write to you. Ask me not 
why I have delayed it so long? It was owing to 
hurry, indolence, and fifty other things ; in short, 
to any thing — but forgetfulness of la plus amiable 
de son seoce. By the bye, you are indebted your 
best courtesy to me for this last compliment ; as I 
pay it from my sincere conviction of its truth — a 
quality rather rare, in compliments of these grin- 
ning, bowing, scraping times. 

2 B 



( 186 ) 

Well, I hope writing to you will ease a little 
my troubled soul. Sorely has it been bruised to- 
day ! A ci-devant friend of mine, and an intimate 
acquaintance of yours, has given my feelings a 
wound, that I perceive will gangrene dangerously 
ere it cure. He has wounded my pride ! 



No. 94. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellisland, 8th August, 1790. 

X ORGIVE me, my once dear, and ever 
dear friend, my seeming negligence. You cannot 
sit down and fancy the busy life I lead. 

I laid down my goose feather to beat my brains 
for an apt simile, and had some thoughts of a 
country grannum at a family christening ; a bride 
on the market-day before her marriage ; * * * 

* * * * -^ 5ir *■ * ^ ^ * ^ * * * 

***** -;^ . jj tavern-keeper at an election- 
dinner; &c. &c. — but the resemblance that hits 
my fancy best is, that blackguard miscreant, Satan, 
who roams about like a roaring lion, seeking, 
searching whom he may devour. However, toss- 
ed about as I am, if I chuse (and who would not 
chuse) to bind down with the crampets of atten- 
tion, the brazen foundation of integrity, I may 
rear up the superstructure of Independence, and 



( 187 ) 

from its daring turrets bid defiance to the storms 
of fate. And is not this a ' consummation de- 
voutly to be wished?' 

* Thy spirit. Independence,, let me share ; 

Lord of the lion-heart and eagle eye ! 
Thy steps I follow with m}' bosom bare, 

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky !' 

Are not these noble verses? They are the in- 
troduction of SmolleVs Ode to Independence: if 
you have not seen the poem, I will send it to 
you. How wretched is the man that hangs on 
by the favours of the great. To shrink from every 
dignity of man, at the approach of a lordly piece 
of self-consequence, who amid all his tinsel glitter, 
and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as 
thou art— and perhaps not so well formed as thou 
art — came into the world a puling infant as thou 
didst, and must go out of it, as all men must, a 
naked corse ! 



No. 95. 
TO MES. DUNLOP. 

November, 1790. 

As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is 
good news from a far country.' 

Fate has long owed me a letter of good news 
from you, in return for the many tidings of sor- 



( 188 ) 

row which I have received. In this instance I 
most cordially obey the apostle — * Rejoice with 
them that do rejoice' — ^for me, to sing for joy is 
no new thing; but to preach for joy, as I have 
done in the commencement of this epistle, is a 
pitch of extravagant rapture, to which I never 
rose before. 

I read your letter — I literally jumped for joy — 
How could such a mercurial creature as a poet, 
lumpishly keep his seat on the receipt of the best 
news from his best friend. I seized my gilt-headed 
Wangee rod, an instrument indispensibly neces- 
sary in my left hand, in the moment of inspiration 
and rapture ; and stride, stride — quick and quicker 
— out skipt I among the broomy banks of Nith, 
to amuse over my joy by retail. To keep within 
the bounds of prose was impossible. Mrs. Little's 
is a more elegant, but not a more sincere compli- 
ment to the sweet little fellow, than I, extempore 
almost, poured out to him, in the following verses. 
See poems, p, 240. — On the Birth of a Posthumous 
Child. 



I am much flattered by your approbation of my 
Tarn o' Shanier, which you express in your former 
letter ; though, by the bye, you load me in that 
said letter with accusations heavy and many ; to 
all which I plead, not guilty ! Your book is, I 
hear, on the road to reach me. As to printing of 
poetry, when you prepare it for the press, you 
have only to spell it right, and place the capital 
letters properly : as to the punctuation, the 
printers do that themselves. 



( 189 ) 

1 have a copy of Tarn & Shanter ready to send 
you by the first opportunity : it is too heavy to 
send by post. 

I heard of Mr. Corbet lately. He, in conse- 
quence of your recommendation, is most zealous 
to serve me. Please favour me soon with an ac- 
count of your good folks ; if Mrs. H. is recovering, 
and the young gentleman doing well. 



No. 96. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellislandj 23d January, 1791* 

3jLANY happy returns of the season to 
you, my dear friend ! As many of the good things 
of this life, as is consistent with the usual mixture 
of good and evil in the cup of being ! 

I have just finished a poem, which you will 
receive enclosed. It is my first essay in the way 
of tales. 

I have these several months been hammering at 
an elegy on the amiable and accomplished IMiss 
Burnet. I have got, and can get, no farther than 
the following fragment, on w^iich please give me 
your strictures. In all kinds of poetic composi- 
tion, I set great store by your opinion; but in 
sentimental verses, in the poetry of the heart, no 
Roman Catholic ever set more value on the infalli- 
bility of the Holy Father, than 1 do on yours. 



( 190 ) 
I mean the introductory couplets as text verses. 

' Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,' &c. 

See Poems, p. 202, 

Let me hear from you soon. Adieu ! 

No. 97. 
TO MR. PETER HILL. 

mh Jamiary, 1791. 

X AKE these two guineas, and place 
them over against that ****** account of yours ! 
which has gagged my mouth these five or six 
months ! 1 can as little write good things as apo- 
logies to the man I owe money to. O the supreme 
curse of making three guineas do the business of 
five! Not all the labours of Hercules; not all 
the Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian bond- 
age, were such an insuperable business, such an 
******** task ! ! Poverty ! thou half-sister of death, 
thou cousin-german of hell! where shall I find 
force of execration equal to the amplitude of thy 
demerits ? Oppressed by thee, the venerable an- 
cient, grown hoary in the practice of every virtue, 
laden with years and wretchedness, implores a 
little — little aid to support his existence, from a 
stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of pros- 
perity never knew a cloud ; and is by him denied 
and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of 
sentiment, whose heart glows with independence, 



( 191 ) 

and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the 
neglect, or writhes in bitterness of soul, under the 
contumely of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Op- 
pressed by thee, the son of genius, whose ill- 
starred ambition plants him at the tables of the 
fashionable and polite, must see in suffering si- 
lence, his remark neglected, and his person de- 
spised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot 
attempts at wit, shall meet with countenance and 
applause. Nor is it only the family of worth that 
have reason to complain of thee : the children of 
folly and vice, though in common with thee the 
offspring of evil, smart equally under thy rod. 
Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition 
and neglected education, is condemned as a fool 
for his dissipation, despised and shunned as a needy 
wretch, when his follies as usual bring him to want; 
and when his unprincipled necessities drive him 
to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a mis- 
creant, and perishes by the justice of his country. 
But far otherwise is the lot of the man of family 
and fortune. His early follies and extravagance, 
are spirit and fire ; his consequent wants, are the 
embarrassments of an honest fellow ; and when, 
to remedy the matter, he has gained a legal com- 
mission to plunder distant provinces, or massacre 
peaceful nations, he returns, perhaps, laden with 
the spoils of rapine and murder; lives wicked and 
respected, and dies a ******* and a lord. — Nay, 
worst of all, alas for helpless woman \ the needy 
prostitute, who has shivered at the corner of the 
street, waiting to earn the wages of casual prosti- 
tution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden down 
by the chariot wheels of the coroneted rip, hurry- 



( 192 ) 

ing on to the guilty assignation ; she, who without 
the same necessities to plead, riots nightly in the 
same guilty trade. 

Well ! divines may say of it what they please, 
but execration is to the mind, what phlebotomy 
is to the body : the vital sluices of both are won- 
derfully relieved by their respective evacuations. 



No. 98. 
FROM A. F. TYTLER, ESQ. 

Editibtirgh, I2th March, 1791. 
Deaii Sill, 

Jj^JIR. hill yesterday put into my 
hands a sheet of Grose's Antiquities, containing a 
poem of yours, entitled, Tam o' Shanter, a tale. 
The very high pleasure I have received from the 
perusal of this admirable piece, I feel, demands 
the warmest acknowledgments. Hill tells me he 
is to send off a packet for you this day ; I cannot 
resist, therefore, putting on paper what 1 must 
have told you in person, had I met with you after 
the recent perusal of your tale, which is, that I 
feel I owe you a debt, which, if undischarged, 
would reproach me with ingratitude. I have sel- 
dom in my life tasted of higher enjoyment from 
any work of genius, than I have received from 
this composition ; and I am much mistaken, if 
this poem alone, had you never written another 
syllable, would not have been sufficient to have 
transmitted your name down to posterity with 



( 193 ) 

high reputation. In the introductory part, where 
yon paint the character of your hero, and exhibit 
him at the alehouse ingle, with his tippling cro- 
nies, you have delineated nature with a humour 
and naivete that would do honour to Matthew 
Prior; but when you describe the infernal orgies 
of the witches' sabbath, and the hellish scenery in 
which they are exhibited, you display a power of 
imagination that Shakespeare himself could not 
have exceeded. I know^ not that I have ever met 
with a picture of more horrible fancy than the 
following : 

' Coffins stood round like open presses. 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip slight. 
Each in his cauld hand held a light.' 

But when I came to the succeeding lines, my 
blood ran cold within me : 

' A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son of life bereft ; 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft.' 

And here, after the two following lines, *Wi' 
mair o* horrible and awfu',' <^'C. the descriptive 
part might perhaps have been better closed, than 
the four lines which succeed, w^hich though good 
in themselves, yet as they derive all their merit 
from the satire they contain, are here rather mis- 
placed among the circumstances of pure horror. 
The initiation of the young witch is most happily 
described — the effect of her charms exhibited in 
the dance on Satan himself — the apostrophe — 
* Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie !' — the 
9 2 C 



( 194 ) 

transport of Tarn, who forgets his situation, and 
enters completely into the spirit of the scene, are 
all features of high merit in this excellent compo- 
sition. The only fault that it possesses, is, that 
the winding up, or conclusion of the story, is not 
commensurate to the interest which is excited by 
the descriptive and characteristic painting of the 
preceding parts. — The preparation is fine, but the 
result is not adequate. But for this, perhaps you 
have a good apology — you stick to the popular 
tale. 

And now that I have got out my mind, and 
feel a little relieved of the weight of that debt I 
owed you, let me end this desultory scroll by an 
advice : you have proved your talent for a species 
of composition in which but a very few of our own 
poets have succeeded — Go on — write more tales 
in the same style — you will eclipse Prior and La 
Fontaine; for with equal wit, equal power of 
numbers, and equal naivete of expression, you 
have a bolder, and more vigorous imagination, 
I am, dear Sir, with much esteem, 
Yours, kc. 



No. 99. 
TO A. R TYTLRR, ESQ. 

Sm, 

IVOTHING less than the unfortunate 
accident I have met with, could have prevented 
my grateful acknowledgments for your letter. 



( 195 ) 

His own favourite poem, and that an essay in a 
walk of the muses entirely new to Iiim, where 
consequently his hopes and fears were on the most 
anxious alarm for his success in the attempt ; to 
have that poem so much applauded by one of the 
first judges, was the most dehcious vibration that 
ever trilled along the heart-strings of a poor poet. 
However, Providence, to keep up the proper pro- 
portion of evil with the good, which it seems is 
necessary in this sublunary state, thought proper 
to check my exultation by a very serious misfor- 
tune. A day or two after I received your letter, 
my horse came down with me and broke my right 
arm. As this is the first service my arm has done 
me since its disaster, I find myself unable to do 
more than just in general terms to thank you for 
this additional instance of your patronage and 
friendship. As to the faults you detected in the 
piece, they are truly there ; one of them, the hit 
at the lawyer and priest, I shall cut out ; as to the 
falling off in the catastrophe, for the reason you 
justly adduce it cannot easily be rem.edied. Your 
approbation. Sir, has given me such additional 
spirits to persevere in this species of poetic com- 
position, that I am already revolving two or three 
stories in my fancy. If I can bring these floating 
ideas to bear any kind of embodied form, it will 
give me an additional opportunity of assuring you 
how much I have the honour to be. <Scc. 



I 



( 196 ) 
No. 100. 

TO Mrs. dunlop. 

Ellisland, 1th Feb. 1791. 

W^HEN I tell you, Madam, that by a 
fall, not from my horse but with ray hcrse, I have 
been a cripple some time, and that this is the 
first day my arm and hand have been able to serve 
me in writing; you will allow that it is too good 
an apology for my seemingly ungrateful silence. 
I am now getting better, and am able to rhyuie a 
little, which implies some tolerable ease; as I can- 
not think that the most poetic genius is able to 
compose on the rack. 

I do not remember if ever I mentioned to you 
my having an idea of composing an elegy on the 
late IMiss Burnet, of Monboddo. 1 had the honour 
of being pretty well acquainted with her, and have 
seldom felt so much at the loss of an acquaintance, 
as v;hen I heard that so amiable and accomplished 
a piece of God's works was no more. I have as 
yet gone no farther than the following fragment, 
of which please let me have your opinion. You 
know that elegy is a subject so much exhausted, 
that any new idea on the business is not to be ex- 
pected : 'tis well if we can place an old idea in a 
new light. How far I have succeeded as to this 
last, you will judge from what follows — 

(Here follows the JE^egy, ^-c, as in p. 202. adding this verse.) 



( 197) 

The parent's heart, that nestled fond in thee. 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care ; 

So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree. 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 

■*• * * 7(f 7^ ^ 

I have proceeded no further. 

Your kind letter, with your kind rememhrance 
of your godson, carae safe. This last, Madam, 
is scarcely what my pride can bear. As to the 
little fellow, he is, partiality apart, the finest boy 
I have of a long time seen. He is now seventeen 
months old, has the small-pox and measles over, 
has cut several teeth, and yet never had a grain 
of doctor's drugs in his bowels. 

I am truly happy to hear that the ' little flow- 
eret' is blooming so fresh and fair, and that the 
* mother-plant' is rather recovering her drooping 
head. Soon and well may her ' cruel woujids' be 
healed ! I have written thus far with a good deal 
of difficulty. When I get a little abler you shall 
hear farther from, 

INIadam, Yours, (kc. 



No. 101. 
TO LADY W. jM. CONSTABLE. 

Acknowledging a Present of a valuable Smiff-hox, with a Jine 
Picture of Mary Queen of Scots on the lid. 

My Lady, 

IVoTHING less than the unlucky acci- 
dent of having lately broken my right arm could 



( 198 ) 

have prevented me, the moment I received your 
ladyship's elegant present by JMrs. Miller, from 
returning you my warmest and most grateful ac- 
knowledgments. I assure your ladyship I shall 
set it apart : the symbols of religion shall only be 
more sacred. In the moment of poetic con] posi- 
tion, the box shall be my inspiring genius. When 
I would breathe the comprehensive wish of bene- 
volence for the happiness of others, I shall recol- 
lect your ladyship ; when I would interest my 
fancy in the distresses incident to humanity, I 
shall remember the unfortunate Mary. 



Iso, 102. 

TO MRS. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY. 

Madam, 

IV^HETHER it is that tlie story of our 
Mary, Queen of Scots, has a peculiar effect on 
the feelings of a poet, or wdiether I have in the 
inclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poe- 
tic success, I know not ; but it has pleased me be- 
yond any effort of my muse for a good w^hile past ; 
on that account 1 inclose it particularly to you. 
It is true, the purity of m}^ motives may be sus- 
pected. I am already deeply indebted to Mr. 

G 's goodness ; and, w^hat in the usual xvays of 

men is of infinitely greater importance, Mr. G. 
can do me service of the utmost importance in 
time to come. I was born a poor dog ; and how- 



( 199 ) 

ever 1 may occasionally pick a better bone than J 
used to do, I know I must live and die poor: but 
I will indulge the flattering faith that my poetry 
wall considerably outlive my poverty ; and with- 
out any fustian affectation of spirit, I can promise 
and affirm, that it must be no ordinary craving 
of the latter shall ever make me do any thing in- 
jurious to the honest fame of the former. What- 
ever may be my failings, for faiUngs are a part of 
human nature, may they ever be those of a gene- 
rous heart, and an independent mind. It is no 
fault of mine that 1 was born to dependence; nor 
is- it jNIr. G 's chiefest praise that he can com- 
mand influence; but it is his merit to bestow, 
not only with the kindness of a brother, but with 
the politeness of a gentleman ; and I trust it shall 
be mine, to receive with thankfulness and remem- 
ber with undiminished gratitude. 



No. 103. 
FROM THE REV. G. BAIRD. 

London, 8ih Febriianj, 1791. 

Sir, 

I TROUBLE you with this letter to in^ 
form you that I am in hopes of being able very 
soon to bring to the press a new edition (long 
since talked of) of Michael Bruce's Poems. The 
profits of the edition are to go to his mother — a 
woman of eighty years of age — poor and helpless. 



( 200 ) 

The poems are to be published by subscription ; 
and it may be possible, I think, to make .out a 2s. 
6d. or 3s. volume, with the assistance of a few 
hitherto unpublished verses, which I have got 
from the mother of the poet. 

But the desion I have in view in WTitinsc to 
you, is not merely to inform you of these facts, 
it is to solicit the aid of your name and pen in 
support of the scheme. The reputation of Bruce 
is already high with every reader of classical taste, 
and T shall be anxious to guard against tarnishing 
his character, by allowing any new poems to ap- 
pear that may lower it. For this purpose, the 
MSS. I am in the possession of, have been sub- 
mitted to the revision of some whose critical talents 
I can trust to, and I mean still to submit them to 
others. 

May I beg to know therefore if you will take 
the trouble of perusing the JMSS — of giving your 
opinion, and suggesting what curtailments, alter- 
ations, or amendments, occur to you as advisable? 
And will you allow us to let it be known, that a 
few lines by you will be added to the volume. 

I know the extent of this request. It is bold 
to make it. But I have this consolation, that 
though you see it proper to refuse it, you will 
not blame me for having made it, you will see 
ray apology in the motive. 

May I just add, that JMichael Bruce is one in 
whose company, from his past appearance, you 
would not, I am convinced, blush to be found; 
and as I would submit every line of his that 
should now be published, to your own criticisms, 
you would be assured that nothing derogatory 



( 201 ) 

either to him or you, would be admitted in that 
appearance he may make in future. 

You have already paid an honourable tribute 
to kindred genius, in Ferguson — I fondly hope 
that the mother of Bruce will experience your 
patronage. 

I wish to have the subscription papers circulated 
by the 14th of 3Iarch, Bruce's birth-day ; which 
1 understand some friends in Scotland talk this 
year of observing — at that time it will be resolved, 
I imagine, to place a plain, humble stone over his 
grave. This at least I trust you will agree to do — 
to furnish, in a few couplets, an inscription for it. 

On these points may I solicit an answer as early 
as possible; a short delay might disappoint us in 
procuring that relief to the mother, which is the 
object of the whole. 

You will be pleased to address for me under 
cover to the duke of Athole, London. 



P. S. Have you ever seen an engraving pub- 
lished here some time ago from one of your 
poems, * O thou pale Orb.' If you have not, I 
shall have the pleasure of sending it to you. 



No. 104. 
TO THE REV. G. BAIRD. 

In answer to the foregoing. 

W HY did you, my dear Sir, write to 
me in such a hesitating style, on the business of 

2 D 



( 202 ) 

poor Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, 
the many ills, the peculiar ills that poetic flesh is 
heir to? You shall have your choice of all the 
unpublished poems I have; and had your letter 
had my direction so as to have reached me sooner,, 
(it only came to my hand this moment) I should 
have directly put you out of suspence on the sub- 
ject. I only ask, that some prefatory advertise- 
ment in the book, as well as the subscription bills, 
may bear, that the publication is solely for the 
benefit of Bruce's mother. I would not put it in 
the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to 
insinuate, that I clubbed a share in the work from 
mercenary motives. Nor need you give me credit 
for any remarkable generosity in my part of the 
business. I have such a host of peccadilloes, fail- 
ings, follies, and backslidings, (any body but my- 
self might perhaps give some of them a worse 
appellation) that by way of some balance, how- 
ever trifling, in the account, I am fain to do any 
good that occurs in my very limited power to a 
fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of 
clearing a little the vista of retrospection. 



No, 105. 
TO DR. MOORE. 

Ellisland, 2Stk February, 1791. 

Jl do not know, Sir, whether you are a 
subscriber to Grose's Antiquities of Scotland, If 



( 203 ) 

yoa are, the inclosed poem will not be altogether 
new to you. Captain Grose did me the favour to 
send me a dozen copies of the proof-sheet, of which 
this is one. Should you have read the piece be- 
fore, still this will answer the principal end I have 
in view : it will give me another opportunity of 
thanking you for all your goodness to the rustic 
bard; and also of shewing you, that the abilities 
you have been pleased to commend and patronize 
are still employed in the way you wish. 

The Elegy on Captain Henderson, is a tribute 
to the memory of a man I loved much. Poets 
have in this the same advantage as Roman Catho- 
lics ; they can be of no service to their friends after 
they have past that bourn where all other kind- 
ness ceases to be of any avail. Whether, after all, 
either the one or the other be of any real service 
to the dead, is, I fear, very problematical; but I 
am sure they are highly gratifying to the living : 
and as a very orthodox text, I forget where in 
scripture, says, * Whatsoever is not of faith, is 
sin;" so say I, Whatsoever is not detrimental to 
society, and is of positive enjoyment, is of God, 
the giver of all good things, and ought to be re- 
ceived and enjoyed by his creatures with thankful 
delight. As almost all my religious tenets origi- 
nate from my heart, I am wonderfully pleased 
with the idea, that I can still keep up a tender 
intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or still 
more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the 
world of spirits. 

The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I 
was busy with Percy's Reliques of English Poetry. 
By the way, how much is every honest heart, 



( 204 ) 

which has a tincture of Caledonian prejudice, ob- 
liged to you for your glorious story of Buchanan 
and Targe. 'Twas an unequivocal proof of your 
loyal gallantry of soul, giving Targe the victory. 
I should have been mortified to the ground if you 

had not. 

******** 

I have just read over, once more of many times, 
your Zeluco. I marked with my pencil, as I went 
along, every passage that pleased me particularly 
above the rest; and one, or two I think, which, 
with humble deference, I am disposed to think 
unequal to the merits of the book. I have some- 
times thought to transcribe these marked passages, 
or at least so much of them as to point where thej'^ 
are, and send them to you. Original strokes that 
strongly depict the human heart, is your and 
Fielding's province, beyond any other novelist I 
have ever perused. Kichardson indeed might 
perhaps be excepted ; but unhappily, his dramatis 
pcrsonee, are beings of some other world ; and 
however they may captivate the unexperienced, 
romantic fancy of a boy or girL they will ever, in 
proportion as we have made human nature our 
study, dissatisfy our ripei* minds. 

As to my private concerns, I am going on, a 
mighty tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have 
lately had the interest to get myself ranked on 
the list of excise as a supervisor. I am not yet 
employed as such, but in a few years I shall fall 
into the file of supervisorship by seniority. I 
liave had an immense loss in the death of the earl 
of Glencairn ; the patron from whom all my fame 
and good fortune took its rise. Independent of 



( 205 ) 

TYiy grateful attachment to him, which was indeed 
so strong that it pervaded my very soul, and was 
entwined with the thread of my existence; so 
soon as the prince's friends had got in, (and every 
dog you know has his day) my getting forward in 
the excise would have been an easier business than 
otherwise it will be. Though this was a consum- 
mation devoutly to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, 
I can live and rhyme as I am ; and as to my boys, 
poor little fellows ! if I cannot place them on as 
high an elevation in life, as I could wish, I shall, 
if I am favoured so much of the Disposer of events 
as to see that period, fix them on as broad and in- 
dependent a basis as possible. Among the many 
wise adages which have been treasured up by our 
Scottish ancestors, this is one of the best. Better 
he the head o' the commoriality, as the tail o' the 
gentry. 

But I am got on a subject, which, however in- 
teresting to me, is of no manner of consequence 
to you ; so I shall give you a short poem on the 
other page, and close this with assuring you how 
-sincerely 1 have the honour to be, Yours, <^c. 



Written on the blank leaf of a book, which I 
presented to a very young lady, w hom I had for- 
merly characterised under the denomination of 
The Rose-bud. See poem^y p. 234. 



( 206 ) 

No. 106. 
FROM DR. MOORE. 

London, 29th March, 1791. 

Dear Sir, 

Your letter of the 28th of February I 
received only two days ago, and this day I had 
the pleasure of waiting on the Rev. Mr. Baird, at 
the duke of Athole's, who had been so obliging as 
to transmit it to me, with the printed verses on 
Alloa Church, the Elegy on Captain Henderson, 
and the Epitaph. There are many poetical beau- 
ties in the former : what I particularly admire are 
the three striking sitnilies from 

* Or like the snow-falls in the river,' 

and the eight lines which begin with 

^ By this time he was cross the ford/* 

so exquisitely expressive of the superstitious im- 
pressions of the country. And the twenty-two 
lines from 

' Coffins stood round like open presses/ 

which, in my opinion, are equal to the ingredients 
of Shakespeare's cauldron in Macbeth. 

As for the Elegy, the chief merit of it consists 
in the very graphical description of the objects 
belonging to the country in which the poet writes, 
and which none but a Scottish poet could have 

* See poems, p. 226. 



( 207 ) 

described, and none but a real poet, and a close 
observer of Nature could have so described. 

* ******* 

There is something original and to me wonder- 
fully pleasing in the Epitaph. 

I remember you once hinted before, what you 
repeat in your last, that you had made some re- 
marks on Zeluco, on the margin. I should be 
very glad to see them, and regret you did not 
send them before the last edition, which is just 
published. Pray transcribe them for me; I sin- 
cerely value your opinion very highly, and pray 
do not suppress one of those in which you censure 
the sentiment or expression. Trust me it will 
break no squares between us — I am not akin to 
the Bishop of Grenada. 

I must now mention what has been on my mind 
for some time : I cannot help thinking you im- 
prudent, in scattering abroad so many copies of 
your verses. It is most natural to give a few to 
confidential friends, particularly to those who 
are connected with the subject, or who are 
perhaps themselves the subject, but this ought to 
be done under promise not to give other copies. 
Of the poem you sent me on Queen Mary, I re- 
fused every solicitation for copies, but I lately saw 
it in a newspaper. My motive for cautioning you 
on this subject, is, that I wish to engage you to 
collect all your fugitive pieces, not already printed, 
and after they have been re-considered, and polish- 
ed to the utmost of your power, 1 would have you 
publish them by another subscription : in promo- 
ting of which, I will exert myself with pleasure. 



( 208 ) 

In your future compositions, I wish you would 
use the modern English. You have shewn your 
powers in vScottish sufficiently. Although in cer- 
tain subjects it gives additional zest to the humour, 
yet it is lost to the English ; and why should you 
write only for a part of the island, when you can 
command the admiration of the whole. 

If you chance to write to my friend Mrs. Dun- 
lop, of Dunlop, I beg to be affectionately remem- 
bered to her. She must not judge of the warmth 
of my sentiments respecting her by the number 
of my letters ; I hardly ever write a line but on 
business ; and I do not know that I should have 
scribbled all this to you, but for the business part, 
that is, to instigate you to a new publication; 
and to tell you, that when you think you have a 
sufficient number to make a volume, you should 
set your friends on getting subscriptions. I wish 
I could have a few hours conversation with you — 
I have many things to say^ which I cannot write. 
If I ever go to Scotland, I will let you know, 
that you may meet me at your own house, or my 
friend Mrs, Hamilton's, or both. 

Adieu, my dear Sir, &c. 



( 209 ) 

No. 107. 
TO THE REV. ARCH. ALISON. 

Ellisland, near Dumfries , I4>ih Feb. 1791' 

Sir, 

\0U must, by this time, have set me 
down as one of the most ungrateful of men. You 
did me the honour to present me with a book 
which does honour to science and the intellectual 
powers of man, and I have not even so much as 
acknowledged the receipt of it. The fact is, you 
yourself are to blame for it. Flattered as I was 
by your telling me that you wished to have my 
opinion of the work, the old spiritual enemy of 
mankind, who knows well that vanity is one of 
the sins that most easily beset me, put it into my 
head to ponder over the performance with the 
look-out of a critic, and to draw up forsooth a 
deep learned digest of strictures, on a composition, 
of which, in fact, until I read the book, I did not 
even know the first principles. I own, Sir, that 
at first glance, several of your propositions startled 
me as paradoxical. That the martial clangour of 
a trumpet had something in it vastly more grand, 
heroic, and subHme, than the twingle twangle of 
a jew's-harp ; that the delicate flexture of the rose- 
twig, when the half-blown flower is heavy with 
the tears of the dawn, was infinitely more beauti- 
ful and elegant than the upright stub of a burdock ; 
and that from something innate and independent 
of all association of ideas ; — these I had set down 

2 E 



( 210 ) 

as irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing 
your book shook my faith. — In short, Sir, except 
Euclid's Elements of Geometry, which I made a 
shift to unravel by my father's fire-side, in the 
winter evening of the first season 1 held the 
plough, 1 never read a book which gave me such 
a quantum of information, and added so much to 
my stock of ideas as your * Essays on the Princi- 
ples of Taste' One thing. Sir, you must forgive 
my mentioning, as an uncommon merit in the 
work, I mean the language. To clothe abstract 
philosophy in elegance of style, sounds something 
like a contradiction in terms ; but you have con- 
vinced me that they are quite compatible. 

I inclose you some poetic bagatelles of my late 
composition. The one in print is my first essay 
in the way of telling a tale. 

I am. Sir, &c. 



No. 108. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

l^th Mmch, 1791. 

JLF the foregoing piece be worth your 
strictures let me have them. For my own part, 
a thing that I have just composed, always appears 
through a double portion of that partial medium 
in which an author will ever view his own works. 
I believe in general, novelty has something in it 



( 211 ) 

that inebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently 
dissipates and fumes away like other intoxication, 
and leaves the poor patient, as usual, with an 
aching heart. A striking instance of this might 
be adduced, in the revolution of many a hymeneal 
honey-moon. But lest I sink into stupid prose, 
and so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my 
parish priest, I shall fill up the page in my own 
way, and give you another song of my late com- 
position, which will appear perhaps in Johnson's 
work, as well as the former. 

You must know a beautiful Jacobite air. 
There'll never be j^^^ce till Jamie comes hame. 
When political combustion ceases to be the object 
of princes and patriots, it then, you know, be- 
comes the lawful prey of historians and poets. 

' By yon castle wa' at the close of the day/ 

See poems, p. 503. 

If you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your 
fancy, you cannot imagine, my dear friend, how 
much you would oblige me, if, by the charms of 
your delightful voice, you w^ould give my honest 
effusion to * the memory of joys that are past,' to 
the few friends whom you indulge in that pleasure. 
But I have scribbled on till I hear the clock has 
intimated the near approach of 

' That hoixr o' night's black arch the key-stane.'— ^ 

So good night to you ! Sound be your sleep, and 
delectable your dreams ! Apropos, how do you 
like this thought in a ballad, I have just now on 
the tapis ? 



( 212 ) 

I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west, is he I lo'e best. 

The lad that is dear to my babie and me ! 

Good night, once more, and God bless you ! 



No. 109. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, llth April, 1791. 

JL AIM once more able, my honoured 
friend, to return you, with my own hand, thanks 
for the many instances of your friendship, and 
particularly for your kind anxiety in this last dis- 
aster, that my evil genius had in store for me. 
However, life is chequered — -joy and sorrow — for 
on Saturday morning last Mrs. Burns made me a 
present of a fine boy ; rather stouter, but not so 
handsome as your godson was at his time of life. 
Indeed I look on your little namesake to be my 
chef d'ceuvre in that species of manufacture, as I 
look on Tarn o' Shantcr to be my standard per- 
formance in the poetical line. 'Tis true, both the 
one and the other discover a spice of roguish wag- 
gery, that might perhaps be as well spared ; but 
then they also shew, in my opinion, a force of 
genius, and a finishing polish, that 1 despair of 
ever excelling. Mrs. Burns is getting stout again, 
and laid as lustily about her to day at breakfast, 
as a reaper from the corn-ridge. That is the pe- 
culiar privilege and blessing of our hale, sprightly 



( 213 ) 

damsels, that are bred among the hay and heather. 
We cannot hope for that highly polished mind, 
that charming delicacy of soul, which is found 
among the female world in the more elevated 
stations of life, and which is certainly by far the 
most bewitching charm in the famous cestus of 
\^enus. It is indeed such an inestimable treasure, 
that where it can be had in its native heavenly pu- 
rity, unstained by some one or other of the many 
shades of affectation, and unallayed by some one or 
other of the many species of caprice, I declare to 
Heaven, I should think it cheaply purchased at the 
expence of every other earthly good ! But as this 
angelic creature is, I am afraid, extremely rare in 
my station and rank of life, and totally denied to 
such a humble one as mine ; we meaner mortals 
must put up with the next rank of female excel- 
lence — as fine a figure and face w^e can produce as 
any rank of life Avhatever ; rustic, native grace ; 
unaffected modesty, and unsullied purity ; nature's 
mother-wit, and the rudiments of taste : a sim- 
plicity of soul, unsuspicious of, because unac- 
quainted with, the crooked ways of a selfish, 
interested, disingenuous world; and the dearest 
charm of all the rest, a yielding sweetness of dis- 
position, and a generous warmth of heart, grateful 
for love on our part, and ardently glowing with a 
more than equal return ; these, with a healthy 
frame, a sound, vigorous constitution, which your 
higher ranks can scarcely ever hope to enjoy, are 
the charms of lovely w^oman in my humble walk 
of life. 

This is the greatest effort my broken arm has 
yet made. Do let me hear, by first post, how 



( 214 ) 

cher petit Monsieur comes on with his small-pox. 
May almighty goodness preserve and restore him ! 



No. 110. 

Dear Sir, 

JL AM exceedingly to blame in not wri- 
ting you long ago; but the truth is, that I am 
the most indolent of all human beings; and when 
I matriculate in the herald's office, I intend that 
my supporters shall be two sloths, my crest a slow- 
worm, and the motto, * Deil tak the foremost !* 
So much by way of apology for not thanking you 
sooner for your kind execution of my commission. 
I would have sent you the poem : but somehow 
or other it found its way into the public papers, 
where you must have seen it. 

7^ "^ TjC *K *f^ 'F 

I am ever, dear Sir, yours sincerely, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



No. 111. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Uth June, 1791. 

AjET me interest you, my dear Cunning- 
ham, in behalf of the gentleman who waits on you 



( 215 ) 

with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of IMoffat, prin- 
cipal schoolmaster there, and is at present suffer- 
ing severely under the ****** of one or two 
powerful individuals of his employers. He is ac- 
cused of harshness to * * * * that were placed 
under his care. God help the teacher, if a man 
of sensibility and genius, and such is my friend 
Clarke, when a booby father presents him with 
his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays 
of science, in a fellow's head whose skull is im- 
pervious and inaccessible by any other way than a 
positive fracture with a cudgel : a fellow whom in 
fact it savours of impiety to attempt making a 
scholar of, as he has been marked a blockhead in the 
book of fate, at the almighty fiat of his Creator. 

The patrons of Moffat school are, the ministers, 
magistrates, and town-council of Edinburgh ; and 
as the business now comes before them, let me 
beg my dearest friend to do every thing in his 
power to serve the interests of a man of genius 
and worth, and a man whom I particularly re- 
spect and esteem. You know some good fellows 
among the magistracy and council, ****** 
****** but particularly you have much to 
say with a reverend gentlem>an to whom you have 
the honour of being very nearly related, and whom 
this country and age have had the honour to pro- 
duce. I need not name the historian of Charles 
v.* I tell him, through the medium of his 
nephew's influence, that Mr. Clarke is a gentle- 
man who will not disgrace even his patronage. I 
know the merits of the cause thoroughly, and 



Dr. Robertson was uncle to Mr. Cunningham. 



( 216 ) 

say that my friend is falling a sacrifice to preju- 
diced ignorance, and **'^*** God help the chil- 
dren of dependence ! Hated and persecuted by 
their enemies, and too often alas ! almost unex- 
ceptionably, received by their friends with disre- 
spect and reproach, under the thin disguise of cold 
civility and humiliating advice. O ! to be a sturdy 
savage, stalking in the pride of his independence, 
amid the solitary wilds of his deserts, rather than 
in civilized life, helplessly to tremble for a sub- 
sistence, precarious as the caprice of a fellow-crea- 
ture ! Every man has his virtues, and no man is 
without his failings ; and curse on that privileged 
plain dealing of friendship, which, in the hour of 
my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping hand 
without at the same time pointing out these fail* 
ings, and apportioning them their share in pro- 
curing my present distress. My friends, for such 
the world calls ye, and such ye think yourselves 
to be, pass by my virtues if you please, but do, 
also, spare my follies : the first will witness in my 
breast for themselves, and the last will give pain 
enough to the ingenuous mind without you. 
And since deviating more or less from the paths 
of propriety and rectitude, must be incident to 
human nature, do thou, fortune, put it in my 
power, always from myself, and of myself, to bear 
the consequences of those errors. I do not want 
to be independent that I may sin, but I want to 
be independent in my sinning. 

To return in this rambling letter to the subject 
I set out with, let me recommend my friend, Mr. 
Clarke, to your acquaintance and good offices; his 
worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude 



( 217 ) 

will merit the other. I long much to hear from 
you. Adieu ! 



No. 111. 
FROM THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 

Dryhurgh Abbey , 17th June, 1791* 

Lord BUCHAN has the pleasure to 
invite Mr. Burns to make one at the coronation 
of the bust of Thomson, on Ednam hill, on the 
22d of September ; for which day perhaps his muse 
may inspire an ode suited to the occasion. Sup- 
pose Mr. Burns should, leaving the Nith, go 
across the country, and meet the Tweed at the 
nearest point from his farm — and, wandering 
along the pastoral banks of Thomson's pure parent 
stream, catch inspiration on the devious walk, till 
he finds lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dry- 
burgh. There the commendator will give him a 
hearty welcome, and try to light his lamp at the 
pure flame of native genius, upon the altar of 
Caledonian virtue. This poetical perambulation 
of the Tweed, is a thought of the late Sir Gilbert 
Elliot, and of lord Minto, followed out by his 
accomplished grandson, the present Sir Gilbert, 
who having been with lord Buchan lately, the 
project was renewed, and will, they hope, be 
executed in the manner proposed. 
10 2 F 



( 218 ) 

No. 112. 
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 

My Lord, 

LiANGUAGE sinks under the ardour 
of my feelings when I would thank your lordship 
for the honour you have done me in inviting me 
to make one at the coronation of the bust of 
Thomson. In my first enthusiasm, in reading 
the card you did me the honour to write me, I 
overlooked every obstacle, and determined to go ; 
but I fear it will not be in my power. A week 
or two's absence, in the very middle of my har- 
vest, is what I much doubt I dare not venture on. 
Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion : 
but who would write after Collins ? I read over 
his verses to the memory <of Thomson, and de- 
spaired. — I got indeed to the length of three or 
four stanzas, in the way of address to the shade of 
the bard, on crowning his bust. I shall trouble 
your lordship with the subjoined copy of them, 
which, I am afraid, will be but too convincing a 
proof how unequal I am to the task. However, 
it affords me an opportunity of approaching your 
lordship, and declaring how sincerely and grate- 
fully I have the honour to be, &c. 



( 219 ) 

No. 113. 
FROM THE SAME. 

Dryhurgh Abbey, l6th Sept. 1791« 

Sir, 

JL OUR address to the shade of Thomson 
has been well received by the public ; and though 
I should disapprove of your allowing Pegasus to 
ride with you off the field of your honourable and 
useful profession, yet I cannot resist an impulse 
which I feel at this moment to suggest to your 
muse, Harvest Home, as an excellent subject for 
her grateful song, in which the peculiar aspect 
and manners of our country might furnish an ex- 
cellent portrait and landscape of Scotland, for the 
employment of happy moments of leisure and re- 
cess, from your more important occupations. 

Your Halloween, and Saturday Night, will re- 
main to distant posterity as interesting pictures of 
rural innocence and happiness in your native 
country, and were happily written in the dialect 
of the people ; but Harvest Home being suited to 
descriptive poetry, except where colloquial may 
escape the disguise of a dialect which admits of no 
elegance or dignity of expression. AVithout the 
assistance of any god or goddess, and without the 
invocation of any foreign muse, you may convey 
in epistolary form the description of a scene so 
gladdening and picturesque, with all the con- 
comitant local position, landscape and costume, 
contrasting the peace, improvement and happiness 



( 220 ) 

of the borders, of the once hostile nations of Bri- 
tain, with their former oppression and misery, and 
showing in lively and beautiful colours, the beau- 
ties and joys of a rural life. And as the un vitiated 
heart is naturally disposed to overflow in gratitude 
in the moment of prosperity, such a subject would 
furnish you with an amiable opportunity of per- 
petuating the names of Glencairn, Miller, and 
your other eminent benefactors ; which from what 
I know of your spirit, and have seen of your 
poems and letters, will not deviate from the chas- 
tity of praise, that is so uniformly united to true 
taste and genius. 

I am. Sir, &c. 



No. 114. 
TO LADY E. CUNNINGHAM. 

My Lady, 

J. WOULD, as usual, have availed my- 
self of the privilege your goodness has allowed 
me, of sending you any thing I compose in my 
poetical way ; but as I had resolved, so soon as 
the shock of my irreparable loss would allow me, 
to pay a tribute to my late banefactor, I deter- 
mined to make that the first piece I should do 
myself the honour of sending you. Had the 
wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my 
heart, the inclosed had been much more worthy 
your perusal : as it is, I beg leave to lay it at your 



( 221 ) 

ladyship's feet. As all the world knows my obli- 
gations to the late earl of Glencairn, I would wish 
to shew as openly that my heart glows, and shall 
ever glow, with the most grateful sense and re- 
membrance of his lordship's goodness. The sables 
I did myself the honour to wear to his lordship's 
memory, were not the * mockery of woe.' Nor 
shall my gratitude perish with me; — If, among 
my children, I shall have a son that has a heart, 
he shall hand it down to his child as a family 
honour, and a family debt, that my dearest ex- 
istence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn ! 

I was about t6 say, my lady, that if you think 
the poem may venture to see the light, I would, 
in some way or other, give it to the world.^ 



No. 115. 
TO MR. AINSLIE. 

My dear Ainslie, 



C^AN you minister to a mind diseased? 
can you, amid the horrors of penitence, regret, 
remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the rest of the 
d — d hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch, 
who has been guilty of the sin of drunkenness — 
can you speak peace to a troubled soul ? 

Miserable perdu that I am, 1 have tried every 
thing that used to amuse me, but in vain : here 

* The poem enclosed, is ' The Lamefit for James, earl of 
Glencairn.' — See poems, p. 220. 



( 222 ) 

must I sit, a monument of the vengeance laid up 
in store for the wicked, slowly counting every 
chick of the clock as it slowly — slowly, numbers 
over these lazy scoundrels of hours, who, d — n 
them, are ranked up before me, every one at his 
neighbour's backside, and every one with a burden 
of anguish on his back, to pour on my devoted 
head — and there is none to pity me. My wife 
scolds me ! my business torments me, and my sins 
come staring me in the face, every one telling a 
more bitter tale than his fellow. — When I tell 
you, even * '^' * has lost its power to please, you 
will guess something of my hell within, and all 
around me— I began Elibanks and Elibraes, but 
the stanzas fell unenjoyed, and unfinished from 
my listless tongue: at last I luckily thought of 
reading over an old letter of yours, that lay by 
me in my book case, and I felt something, for 
the first time since I opened my eyes, of plea- 
surable existence. Well — I begin to breathe' a 

little, since I began to write you. How are you, 
and what are you doing ? How goes law ? Apro- 
pos, for connection's sake do not address to me 
supervisor, for that is an honour I cannot pretend 
to — I am on the list, as we call it, for a supervisor, 
and will be called out by and by to act as one; 
but at present, I am a simple ganger, tho' 'tother 
day I got an appointment to an excise division of 
£25 per ann. better than the rest. My present 
income, down money, is £70 per ann. 
******** 

I have one or two good fellows here whom you 
would be glad to know. 



( 223 ) 

No. 116. 
FROM SIR JOHN WHITEFORD. 

Near Maybole, l6th Oct, 1791- 

Sir, 

Accept of my thanks for your favour, 
with the Lament on the death of my much esteem- 
ed friend, and your worthy patron, the perusal of 
which pleased and affected me much. The lines 
addressed to me are very flattering. 

I have always thought it most natural to sup- 
pose, (and a strong argument in favour of a future 
existence), that when we see an honourable and 
virtuous man, labouring under bodily infirmities, 
and oppressed by the frowns of fortune in this 
world, that there was a happier state beyond the 
grave ; where that worth and honour, which were 
neglected here, would meet with their just reward, 
and where temporal misfortunes would receive an 
eternal recompense. Let us cherish this hope for 
our departed friend ; and moderate our grief for 
that loss we have sustained ; knowing that he can- 
not return to us, but we may go to him. 

Remember me to your wife, and with every 
good wish for the prosperity of you and your 
family, believe me, at all times. 

Your most sincere friend, 
JOHN WHITEFORD, 



{ 224 ) 

No. 117. 
FROM A. F. TYTLER, ESQ. 

Edinburgh, ^Jtk Nov. 1791. 

Dear Sir, 

Jl OU have much reason to blame me for 
neglecting till now to acknowledge the receipt of 
a most agreeable packet, containing The Whistle^ 
a ballad; and The Lament; which reached me 
about six weeks ago in I^ondon, from whence I 
am just returned. Your letter was forwarded to 
me there from Edinburgh, where, as I observed 
by the date, it had lain for some days. This was 
an additional reason for me to have answered it 
immediately on receiving it ; but the truth was, 
the bustle of business, engagements, and confusion 
of one kind or another, in w^hich I found myself 
immersed all the time I was in London, absolutely 
put it out of my power. But to have done with 
apologies, let me now endeavour to prove myself 
in some degree deserving of the very flattering 
compliment you pay me, by giving you at least a 
frank and a candid, if it should not be a judicious 
criticism, on the poems you sent me. 

The ballad of The Whistle is, in my opinion, 
truly excellent. The old tradition w^hich you 
have taken up, is the best adapted for a Baccha- 
nalian composition of any I have ever met with, 
and you have done it full justice. In the first 
place, the strokes of wit arise naturally from the 



( 225 ) 

subject, and are uncommonly happy. For ex- 
ample, 

* The bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.' 

* Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn.' 

* Though fate said a hero should perish in light, 

So up rose bright Phoebus, and down fell the knight.' 

In the next place, you are singularly happy in the 
discrimination of your heroes, and in giving each 
the sentiments and language suitable to his cha- 
racter. And lastly, you have much merit in the 
delicacy of the panegyric which you have con- 
trived to throw on each of the dramatis personce, 
perfectly appropriate to his character. The com- 
pliment to Sir Robert, the blunt soldier, is pecu- 
liarly fine. In short, this composition, in my 
opinion, does you great honour, and I see not a 
line or a word in it w^hich I could wish to be 
altered. 

As to The Lament, I suspect, from some ex- 
pressions in your letter to me, that you are more 
doubtful with respect to the merits of this piece 
than of the other, and I own I think you have 
reason ; for although it contains some beautiful 
stanzas, as the first, * The wind blew hollow,' kc, 
the fifth, 'Ye scattered birds;' the thirteenth, 
* Awake thy last sad voice,' &c. Yet it appears 
to me faulty as a whole, and inferior to several of 
those you have already published in the same 
strain. My principal objection lies against the 
plan of the piece. I think it was unnecessary and 
improper to put the lamentation in the mouth of 
a fictitious character, an aged hard — It had been 
much better to have lamented your patron in your 



( 226 ) 

own person, to have expressed your genuine feel- 
ings for his loss, and to have spoken the language 
of nature rather than that of fiction on the subject. 
Compare this with your poem of the same title in 
your printed volume, which begins, O thou pale 
0?'b ! and observe what it is that forms the charm 
of that composition. It is, that it speaks the lan- 
guage of truth and of nature. The change is, in 
my opinion, injudicious too in this respect, that 
an aged bard has much less need of a patron and 
protector than a young one. I have thus given 
you, v/ith much freedom, my opinion of both the 
pieces. I should ijave made a very ill return to 
the compli'iient you paid me, if I had given you 
any other than my genuine sentiments. 

It will give me great pleasure to hear fi-om you 
when you find leisure, and I beg you will believe 
me ever, dear Sir, Yours, &c. 



No. 118. 
TO MISS DAVIES. 

iT is impossible, Madam, that the gene- 
rous warmth and angelic purity of your youthful 
mind, can have any idea of that moral disease 
under which I unhappily must rank as the chief 
of sinners; I mean, a torpitude of the moral 
powers, that may be called, a lethargy of con- 
science. — In vain remorse rears her horrent crest, 
and rouses all her snakes : beneath tho^ deadly fix- 
ed eye and laden hand of Indolence, their wildest 



( 227 ) 

ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumber- 
ing out the rigours of winter in the chink of a 
ruined wall. Nothing less, madam, could have 
made me so long neglect your obliging commands. 
Indeed I had one apology — the bagatelle wrs not 
worth presenting. Besides, so strongly am I in- 
terested in Miss D 's fate and welfare in the 

serious business of life, amid its chances and 
changes ; that to make her the subject of a silly 
ballad, is downright mockery of these ardent feel- 
ings ; 'tis like an impertinent jest to a dying friend. 

Gracious Heaven, why this disparity between 
our wishes and our powers? Why is the most 
generous wish to make others blest, impotent and 
ineffectual — as the idle breeze that crosses the 
pathless desert ? In my walks of life 1 have met 
with a few people to whom how gladly would I 
have said — ' Go, be happy ! I know that your 
hearts have been wounded by the scorn of the 
proud, whom accident has placed above you— or 
worse still, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed 
many of the comforts of your life. But there ! 
ascend that rock, Independence, and look justly 
down on their littleness of soul. Make the worth- 
less tremble under your indignation, and the fool- 
ish sink before your contempt : and largely impart 
that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will 
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow !' 

Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this de- 
lightful reverie, and find it all a dream? Why, 
amid my generous enthusiasm, must I find my- 
self poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one 
tear from the eye of pity, or of adding one com- 
fort to the friend I love !— Out upon the world ! 



( 228 ) 

say I, that its affairs are administered so ill ! They 
talk of reform ; — good Heaven ! what a reform 
would I make among the sons, and even the 
daughters of men ! — Down, immediately, should 
go fools from the high places where misbegotten 
chance has perked them up, and through life 
should they skulk, ever haunted by their native 
insignificance, as the body marches accompanied 
by its shadow. — As for a much more formidable 
class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with 
them : Had I a world, there should not be a knave 

in it. 

* * * iif * iff 

But the hand that could give, I would liberally 
fill ; and I would pour delight on the heart that 
could kindly forgive, and generously love. 

Still the inequalities of life are, among men, 
comparatively tolerable — but there is a delicacy, a 
tenderness, acompanying every view in which we 
can place lovely Woman, that are grated and 
shocked at the rude, capricious distinctions of for- 
tune. Woman is the blood-royal of life: let 
there be slight degrees of precedency among 
them— but let them be all sacred. — Whether this 
last sentiment be right or wrong, I am not ac- 
countable; it is an original component feature of 
my mind. 



( 229 ) 

No. 119. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, I'Jth December, I79I. 

31 ANY thanks to you. Madam, for your 
good news respecting the little floweret and the 
mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have 
been heard, and will be answered up to the 
warmest sincerity of their fullest extent; and 
then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the 
representative of his late parent, in every thing 
but his abridged existence. 

I have just finished the following song, which 
to a lady the descendant of Wallace and many 
heroes of his truly illustrious line, and herself the 
mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface 
nor apology. 

Here follows The Song of Death.— iSeefoeww, jp. 505. 

The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing 
verses was, looking over with a musical friend 
McDonald's collection of Highland airs, I was 
struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled 
Oi^an an Aoig, or. The Song of Death, to the 
measure of which I have adapted my stanzas. I 
have of late composed two or three other little 
pieces, which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose 
broad impudent face now stares at old mother 
earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest 
crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall 



( 230 ) 

find an hour to transcribe for you. A Dieu je 
vous commende ! 



No. 120. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

5th January, 1792. 

JL OU see my hurried life, Madam ; I can 
only command starts of time : however I am glad 
of one thing ; since I finished the other sheet, the 
political blast that threatened my welfare is over- 
blown. I have corresponded with Commissioner 
Graham, for the board had made me the subject 
of their animadversions : and now I have the plea- 
sure of informing you, that all is set to rights in 
that quarter. Now as to these informers, may the 

devil be let loose to but hold ! I was praying 

most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not 
so soon fall a swearing in this. 

Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly of- 
ficious think what mischief they do by their 
malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or 
thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there 
is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, gene- 
rosity, kindness — in all the charities and all the 
virtues; between one class of human beings and 
another. For instance, the amiable circle 1 so 

lately mixed with in the hospitable hall of D , 

their generous hearts — their uncontaminated, dig- 
nified minds — their informed and polished under- 
standings — what a contrast, when compared — if 



( 231 ) 

such comparing were not downright sacrilege — 
with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately 
plot the destruction of an honest man that never 
offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction see 
the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prat- 
tling innocents, turned over to beggary and ruin ! 
Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I 
had two worthy fellows dining with me the other 
day, when I, with great formality, produced my 
whigmeleerie cup, and told them that it had been 
a family-piece among the descendants of Sir Wil- 
liam Wallace. This roused such an enthusiasm, 
that they insisted on bumpering the punch round 
in it ; and by and by, never did your great an- 
cestor lay a Sutliorn more completely to rest, than 
for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, 
this is the season of wishing. May God bless you, 
my dear friend, and bless me, the humblest and 
sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet 
many returns of the season ! May all good things 
attend you and yours wherever they are scattered 
over tlie earth ! 



No. 121. 
TO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, PRINTER. 

Durnfrics, 22(1 Jamtary, 1 792. 

Jl sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce 
a young lady to you, and a lady in the first ranks 
of fashion too. What a task ! to you — who care 
no more for the herd of animals called young 



( 232 ) 

ladies, than you do for the herd of animals called 
young gentlemen. To you — who despise and de- 
test the groupings and combinations of fashion, as 
an idiot painter that seems industrious to place 
staring fools and unprincipled knaves in the fore- 
ground of his picture, while men of sense and 
honesty are too often thrown in the dimmest 
shades. Mrs. Riddel, who will take this letter to 
town with her and send it to you, is a character 
that, even in your own way, as a naturalist and a 
philosopher, would be an acquisition to your ac- 
quaintance. The lady too is a votary of the 
muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a 
judge in my own trade, I assure you that her 
verses, always correct, and often elegant, are 
much beyond the common run of the lady-poet- 
esses of the day. She is a great admirer of your 
book, and hearing me say that I was acquainted 
with you, she begged to be known to you, as she 
is just going to pay her first visit to our Caledo- 
nian capital. I told her that her best way was, 
to desire her near relation, and your intimate 
friend, Craigdarrock, to have you at his house 
while she was there ; and lest you might think of 
a lively West Indian girl of eighteen, as girls of 
eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I 
should take care to remove that prejudice. To be 
impartial, however, in appreciating the lady's 
merits, she has one unlucky failing; a failing 
which you will easily discover, as she seems rather 
pleased with indulging in it; and a failing that 
you will as easily pardon, as it is a sin which very 
much besets yourself ;— where she dislikes or de- 



( 233 ) 

spises, she is apt to make no more a secret of it, 
than where she esteems and respects. 

I will i]ot present you with the unmeaning 
covipliments of the season, but I will send you my 
warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that 
FORTUNE may never throw your subsistence to 
the mercy of a knave, or set your character 
on the judgment of a fool ; but that upright and 
erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where 
men of letters shall say. Here lies a man who did 
honour to science; and men of worth shall say, 
Here lies a man who did honour to human nature. 



No. 122. 
TO ]MR. W. NICOL. 

20th February, 1792. 

\3 THOU, wisest among the wise, me- 
ridian blaze of prudence, full moon of discretion, 
and chief of many counsellors ! How infinitely is 
thy puddled-headed, rattle-headed, Wrong-head- 
ed, round-headed slave indebted to thy super-emi- 
nent goodness, that from the luminous path of 
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest be- 
nignly down on an erring wretch, of whom the 
zig-zag w^anderings defy all the powers of calcula- 
tion, from the simple copulation of units up to 
the hidden mysteries of fluxions ! May one feeble 
ray of that light of wisdom v/hich darts from thy 
sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and 
bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my 

2 H 



( 234 ) 

portion, so that I may be less unworthy of the 
face and favour of that father of proverbs and 
master of maxims, that antipode of folly, and 
magnet among the sages, the wise and wdtty 
Willie Nichol ! Amen ! Amen ! Yes, so be it I 
For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know 
nothing ! From the cave of my ignorance, amid 
the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of 
my political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a 
toad through the iron-barred lucerne of a pestifer- 
ous dungeon, to the cloudless glory of a summer 
sun ! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, 
when shall my name be the quotation of the wise^ 
and my countenance be the delight of the godly, 
like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many hills?* 
As for him, his works are perfect : never did the 
pen of calumny blur the fair page of his reputa- 
tion, nor the bolt of hatred fly at his dwelling. 

* *• 5k- * * tJ:- 

Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine 
lamp of my glimmerous understanding, purged 
from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine like 
the constellation of thy intellectual powers. — As 
for thee, thy thoughts are pure, and thy lips are 
holy. Never did the unhallowed breath of the 
powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness, 
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended and 
heaven-bound desires : never did the vapours of 
impurity stain the unclouded serene of thy ceru- 
lean imagination. O that like thine were the 
tenor of my life, like thine tlie tenor of my con- 
versation ! then should no friend fear for my 
strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness ! 

* Mr. Nicol. 



( 235 ) 

Then should I lie down and rise up, and none to 
make me afraid. — May thy pity and thy prayer 
be exercised for, O thou lamp of wisdom and 
mirror of morality ! thy devoted slave.* 



No. 123. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

3d March, 1792. 

J^INCE I wTote to you the last lugubri. 
ous sheet, I have not had time to write you far- 
ther. When 1 say that I had not time, that, as 
usual means, that the three demons, indolence, 
business, and ennui, have so completely shared 
my hours among them, as not to leave me a five 
minutes fragment to take up a pen in. 

Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying up- 
wards with the renovating year. Now I shall in 
good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare 
say he thinks I have used him unkindly, and I 
must own with too much appearance of truth. 
Apropos, do you know the much admired old High- 
land air called T/ie Sutofs Dochter f It is a first 
rate favourite of mine, and I have written what I 
reckon one of my best songs to it. I will send it 
to you, as it was sung with great applause in some 
fashionable circles, by Major Robertson, of Lude, 
who was here with his corps. 



* This strain of irony was excited by a letter of Mr. Nicoi, 
eontaining good advice. 



( 236 ) 

There is one commission that 1 must trouble 
you with. I lately lost a valuable seal, a present 
from a departed friend, which vexes me much. 
I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, 
which I fancy would make a very decent one; 
and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it ; will 
you be so obliging as enquire what will be the ex- 
pence of such a business ? I do not know that 
my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, 
at all; but I have invented arms for myself, so 
you know 1 shall be chief of the name ; and by 
courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to 
supporters. These however I do not intend having 
on my seal. I am a bit of a herald ; and shall give 
you, secundiwi artem, my arms. On a field, azure, 
a holly busli, seeded, proper, in base ; a shepherd's 
pipe and crook, saltier- wise, also proper, in chief 
On a wreath of the colours, a wood-lark perching 
on a sprig of bay -tree, proper, ibr crest. Two 
mottoes : round the top of the crest Wood notes 
'wild; at the bottom of the shield, in the usual 
place, Bette?^ a wee hush than nae bield. By the 
shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the non- 
sense of painters of Arcadia, but a Stock and Horn, 
and a Club, such as you see at the head of Allan 
Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition of the Gentle 
Shepherd, By the by, do you know Allan ? He 
must be a man of very great genius — Why is he 
not more known ? — Has he no patrons ? or do 
* Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen 
and heavy' on him ? I once, and but once, got a 
glance of that noble edition of that noblest pastoral 
in the world ; and dear as it was, I mean, dear as 
to my pocket, I would have bought it ; but I was 



( 237 ) 

told that it was printed and engraved for subscri- 
bers only. He is the only artist who has hit 
genuine pastoral costume. What, my dear Cun- 
ningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and 
harden the heart so ? 1 think that were I as rich 
as the sun, I should be as generous as the day ; 
but as 1 have no reason to imagine my soul a 
nobler one than any other man's, I must conclude 
that wealth imparts a bird-lime quality to the 
possessor, at which the man, in his native poverty, 
would have revolted. What has led me to this, 
is the idea of such merit as Mr. Allan possesses, 
and such riches as a nabob or governor contractor 
possesses, and why they do not form a mutual 
league. Let wealth shelter and cherish unpro- 
tected merit, and the gratitude and celebrity of 

that merit will richly repay it. 

* ^ * * iij *■ 



No. 124. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1 792. 

Jl30 not blame me for it. Madam— my 
own conscience, hacknied and weatherbeaten as it 
is, in watching and reproving my vagaries, foUies, 
indolence, kc. has continued to blame and punish 
me sufficiently. 

* *. ii^ * * * 

Do you think it possible, my dear and honour- 
ed friend, that I could be so lost to gratitude for 



( 238 ) 

many favours ; to esteem for much worth, and to 
the honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now old ac- 
quaintance, and I hope and am sure of progressive 
increasing friendship — as, for a single day, not to 
think of you — to ask the Fates what they are 
doing and about to do with my much loved friend 
and her wide-scattered connections, and to beg of 
them to be as kind to you and yours as they pos- 
sibly can. 

Apropos, (though how it is apropos, I have not 
leisure to explain) do you know that I am almost 
in love with an acquaintance of yours ? — Almost ! 
said I — I am in love, souse ! over head and ears, 
deep as the most unfathomable abyss of the bound- 
less ocean ; but the word, Love, owing to the in- 
ter mingiedoms of the good and the bad, the pure 
and the impure, in this world, being rather an 
equivocal term for expressing one's sentiments 
and sensations, I must do justice to the sacred 
purity of my attachment. Know then, that the 
heart-struck awe ; the distant humble approach ; 
the delight we should have in gazing upon and 
listening to a Messenger of Heaven, appearing in 
all the unspotted purity of his celestial home, 
among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of 
men, to deliver to them tidings that make their 
hearts svv^im in joy, and their imaginations soar in 
transport — such, so delighting, and so pure, were 
the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day 

with Miss L — B. your neighbour, at M . 

Mr. B. with his two daughters, accompanied by 
Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few 
days ago, on their way to England, did me the 
honour of calling on me; on which I took my 



( 239 ) 

horse, (though God knows I could ill spare the 
time) and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen 
miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 
'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them ; and 
riding home, I composed the following ballad, of 
which you will probably think you have a dear 
bargain, as it will cost you another groat of post- 
age. You must know that there is an old ballad, 
beginning wdth 

' My bonnie Lizie Bailie 

' I'll rowe thee in my plaidie/ &c. 

So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the 
first copy, * unanointed unannealed,' as Hamlet 
says. 

' O saw ye bonnie Lesley/ &c. — See poeins, p. 3Q0. 

So much for ballads. I regret that you are gone 
to the east country, as I am to be in Ayrshire in 
about a fortnight. This world of ours, notwith- 
standing it has many good things in it, yet it has 
ever had this curse, that tw^o or three people, who 
would be the happier the oftener they met toge- 
ther, are, almost without exception, always so 
placed as never to meet but once or twice a year; 
which, considering the few years of a man's life, is 
a very great * evil under the sun,' which I do not 
recollect that Solomon has mentioned in his cata- 
logue of the miseries of man. I hope and believe 
that there is a state of existence beyond the grave, 
where the worthy of this life will renew their 
former intimacies, with this endearing addition, 

that, * we meet to part no more.' 

* * i^ ^- * * 



( 240 ) 

* Tell us, ye dead. 
Will none of you in pity disclose the secret, 
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be I' 

A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to 
the departed sons of men, but not one of them has 
ever thought fit to answer the question. ' O that 
some courteous ghost would blab it out !' but it 
cannot be ; you and I, my friend, must make the 
experiment by ourselves and for ourselves. How- 
ever, I am so convinced that an unshaken faith in 
the doctrines of religion is not only necessary, by 
making us better men, but also by making us 
happier men, that I shall take every care that 
your little godson, and every little creature that 
shall call me father, shall be taught them. 

So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at 
this wild place of the world, in the intervals of my 
labour of discharging a vessel of rum from Antigua. 



No. 125. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Dumfries, lOtk September, 1792. 

IN O ! 1 will not attempt an apology.— 
Amid all my hurry of business, grinding the faces 
of the publican and the sinner on the merciless 
wheels of the excise; making ballads, and then 
drinking and singing them ; and, over and above 
all, the correcting the press-work of two different 
publications; still, still I might have stolen five 
minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my friends 



( 241 ) 

and fellow-creatures. 1 might have done, as I do 
at present, snatching an hour near ' witching time 
of night' — and scrawled a page or two. I might 
have congratulated my friend on his marriage ; or 
I might have thanked the Caledonian archers for 
the honour they have done me, (though to do 
myself justice, I intended to have done both in 
rhyme, else I had done both long ere now). Well 
then, here is to your good health ! for you must 
know I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, just 
by way of spell, to keep away the meikle horned 
Deil, or any of his subaltern imps who may be on 
their nightly rounds. 

But what shall I write to you? — *The voice 
said cry,' and I said, * What shall I cry ?' — O, 
thou spirit ! whatever thou art, or wherever thou 
makest thyself visible ! be thou a bogle by the 
eerie side of an auld thorn, in the dreary glen 
through which the herd-callan maun bicker in his 
gloamin route frae the fauld I Be thou a brownie, 
set, at dead of night, to thy task, by the blazing- 
ingle, or in the solitary barn, where the repercus- 
sions of thy iron flail half affright thyself, as thou 
performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, 
ere the cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample 
cog of substantial brose — Be thou a kelpie, haunt- 
ing the ford or ferry, in the starless night, mixing 
thy laughing yell with the howling of the storm 
and the roaring of the flood, as thou vie west the 
perils and miseries of man on the foundering horse, 
or in the tumbling boat ! — Or, lastly, be thou a 
ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary 
ruins of decayed grandeur; or performing thy 
mystic rites in the shadow of the time-worn 
11 2 1 



( 242 ) 

church, while the moon looks, without a cloud, 
on the silent, ghastly dwellings of the dead around 
thee ; or taking thy stand by the bedside of the 
villain, or the murderer, pourtraying on his dream- 
ing fancy, pictures, dreadful as the horrors of un- 
veiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed 
Deity ! — Come, thou spirit, but not in these hor- 
rid forms ; come with the milder, gentle, easy in- 
spirations, which thou breathest round the wig of 
a prating advocate, or the tete of a tea-sipping 
gossip, while their tongues run at the light-horse 
gallop of clishmaclaver for ever and ever — come 
and assist a poor devil, who is quite jaded in the 
attempt to share half an idea among half a hun- 
dred words; to fill up four quarto pages, while he 
has not got one single sentence of recollection, in- 
formation, or remark worth putting pen to paper 
for. 

I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assist- 
ance ! circled in the embrace of my elbow chair, 
my breast labours, like the bloated Sybil on her 
three-footed stool, and like her too, labours with 
Nonsense. — Nonsense, auspicious name ! Tutor, 
friend, and finger-post in the mystic mazes of 
law ; the cadaverous paths of physic; and particu- 
larly in the sightless soarings of school divinity, 
who, leaving Common Sense confounded at his 
strength of pinion; Reason, delirious with eyeing 
his giddy flight; and Truth creeping back into 
the bottom of her well, cursing the hour that ever 
she offered her scorned alliance to the wizard 
power of Theologic Vision — raves abroad on all 
the winds. * On earth Discord ! a gloomy Heaven 
above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteen 



( 243 ) 

thousandth part of the tithe of mankind ! and be- 
low, an inescapable and inexorable hell, expand- 
ing its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of 
mortals ! ! !' — O doctrine ! comfortable and healing 
to the weary, wounded soul of man ! Ye sons and 
daughters of affliction, ye pauvres iniserahles, to 
whom day brings no pleasure, and night yields no 
rest, be comforted ! * 'Tis but one to nineteen hun- 
dred thousand that your situation will amend in 
this world ;' so, alas ! the experience of the poor 
and the needy too often affirms ; and 'tis nineteen 
hundred thousand to one, by the dogmas of ***** 
***, that you will be damned eternally in the 
world to come ! 

But of all Nonsense, Rehgious Nonsense is the 
most nonsensical; so enough, and more than 
enough of it. Only, by the bye, will you, or can 
you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a secta- 
rian turn of mind has always a tendency to narrow 
and illiberalize the heart ? They are orderly ; they 
may be just; nay, I have known them merciful: 
but still your children of sanctity move among 
their fellow-creatures with a nostril snuffing pu- 
trescence, and a foot spurning filth, in short, with 
a conceited dignity that your titled * * * * 
* * -^ -^ ^ ^ ^j r:c- Qj, ^jjy other of your 

Scottish lordlings of seven centuries standing, 
display when they accidentally mix among the 
many aproned sons of mechanical life. I remem- 
ber, in my plough-boy days, I could not conceive 
it possible that a noble lord could be a fool, or a 
godly man could be a knave. — How ignorant are 
plough-boys ! — Nay, I have bince discovered that 



( 244 ) 

a godly woman may be a ***** ! — But hold — 
Here's t'ye again — this rum is generous Antigua, 
so a very unfit menstruum for scandal. 

Apropos, how do you like, I mean ideally like 
the married life ? Ah ! my friend, matrimony is 
quite a different thing from what your love-sick 
youths and sighing girls take it to be ! But mar- 
riage, we are told, is appointed by God, and I 
shall never quarrel with any of his institutions. I 
am a husband of older standing than you, and 
shall give you my ideas of the conjugal state. 
(En passant, you know I am no Latin ist, is not 
conjugal derived from jugum, a yoke?) Well 
then, the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten 
parts. — Good-nature, four; Good Sense, two; 
Wit, one; Personal Charms, viz. a sweet face, 
eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful carriage, (I 
would add a fine waist too, but that is so soon 
spoilt, you know) all these one ; as for the other 
qualities belonging to, or attending on, a wufe, 
such as Fortune, Connections, Education, (I mean 
education extraordinary) Family Blood, &c,, divide 
the two remaining degrees among them as you 
please ; only, remember that all these minor pro- 
perties must be expressed by fractions, for there 
is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, en- 
titled to the dignity of an integer. 

As for the rest of my fancies and reveries — how 

I lately met with Miss L , B— -^ — , the most 

beautiful, elegant woman in the world — how I 
accomnanied her and her father's family fifteen 
miles on their journey, out of pure devotion, to 
admire the loveliness of the works of God, in such 



( 245 ) 

an unequalled display of them — how, in galloping 
home at night, I made a ballad on her, of which 
these two stanzas make a part — 

Thou, bonnie L— — , art a queen. 

Thy subjects we before thee ; 
Thou, bonnie L , art divine, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The very Deil he could na scathe 

Whatever wad belang thee ! 
He'd look into thy bonnie face 

And say, ' I canna wrang thee/ 

— Behold, all these things are written in the 
chronicles of my imaginations, and shall be read 
by thee, my dear friend, and by thy beloved 
spouse, my other dear friend, at a more conve- 
nient season. 

Now, to thee, and to thy before-designed bosom- 
companion, be given the precious things brought 
forth by the sun, and the precious things brought 
forth by the moon, and the benignest influences of 
the stars, and the living streams which flow from 
the fountains of life, and by the tree of life, for 
ever and ever ! Amen ! 



No. 126. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Dumfries, 24/^ Sep. 1792. 

Jl HAVE this moment, my dear Madam, 
yours of the twenty-third. All your other kind 



( 246 ) 

reproaches, your news, &c. are out of my head 

when I read and think on Mrs. H 's situation. 

Good God ! a heart-wounded helpless young wo- 
man — in a strange, foreign land, and that land 
convulsed with every horror that can harrow the 
human feelings — sick — looking, longing for a com- 
forter, but finding none — a mother's feelings, too 
— but it is too much : He who wounded (He only 
can) may He heal !* 

* vie- -» ^ -;!c- t- 

I wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisi- 
tion to his family. * * *«-***«- j ^^^_ 
not say that I give him joy of his life as a farm.er. 
'Tis, as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable 
rent, a cursed life! As to a laird farming his 
own property ; sowing his own corn in hope ; and 
reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in glad- 
ness ; knowing that none can say unto him, 
* what dost thou ?' — fattening his herds ; shearing 
his flocks ; rejoicing at Christmas ; and begetting 
sons and daughters, until he be the venerated, 
grey-haired leader of a little tribe — 'tis a heavenly 
life ! but Devil take the life of reaping the fruits 
that another must eat. 

Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to 
seeing me when I make my Ayrshire visit. I 

cannot leave Mrs. B , until her nine months' 

race is run, which may perhaps be in three or four 
weeks. She, too, seems determined to make me 
the patriarchal leader of a band. However, if 
Heaven will be so oblieinor as let me have them 



* This much lamented lady was gone to the south of France 
with her infant son, where she died soon after. 



( 247 ) 

on the proportion of three boys to one girl, I shall 
be so much the more pleased. I hope, if I am 
spared with them, to shew a set of boys that will 
do honour to my cares and name ; but I am not 
equal to the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am 
too poor; a girl should always have a fortune. 
Apropos, your little godson is thriving charm- 
ingly, but is a very devil. He, though two years 
younger, has completely mastered his brother. 
Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest creature I 
ever saw. He has a most surprising memory, and 
is quite the pride of his schoolmaster. 

You know how readily we got into prattle upon 
a subject dear to our heart: you can excuse it. 
Gcd bless you and yours ! 



No. 127. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 



Supposed to have been written on the Death of Mrs. H , her 

daughter. 

A. HAD been from home, and did not 
receive your letter until my return the other day. 
What shall I say to comfort you, my much-valued, 
much-afflicted friend ! I can but grieve with you; 
consolation I have none to offer, except that which 
religion holds out to the children of affliction — 
children of ajfiictioii ! — how just the expression! 
and like every other family, they have matters 
among them which they hear, see, and feel in a 
serious, all important manner, of which the world 



( 248 ) 

has not, nor cares to have, any idea. The world 
looks mdifFerently on, makes the passing remark, 
and proceeds to the next novel occurrence. 

Alas, Madam ! who would wish for many years ! 
what is it but to drag existence until our joys gra- 
dually expire, and leave us in a night of misery : 
like the gloom which blots out the stars one by 
one, from the face of night, and leaves us, with- 
out a ray of comfort, in the howling waste ! 

I am interrupted, and must leave off. You 
shall soon hear from me again. 



No. 128. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Dumfries, 6ih Dec. 1792. 

JL SHALL be in Ayrshire, I think, next 
week ; and if at all possible, I shall certainly, my 
much esteemed friend, have the pleasure of visit- 
ing at Dunlop-house. 

Alas, Madam ! how seldom do we meet in this 
world, that we have reason to congratulate our- 
selves on accessions of happiness ! I have not 
passed half the ordinary term of an old man's life, 
and yet I scarcely look over the obituary of a 
newspaper, that I do not see some names that I 
have known, and which I, and other acquaint- 
ances, little thought to meet with there so soon. 
Every other instance of the mortality of our kind, 
makes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful 
abyss of uncertainty, and shudder with apprehen- 



( 249 ) 

sion for our own fate. But of how different an 
importance are the lives of different individuals? 
Nay, of what importance is one period of the same 
life, more than another? A few years ago, I could 
have lain down in the dust, 'careless of the voice 
of the morning;' and now not a few, and these 
most helpless individuals, would, on losing me and 
my exertions, lose both their 'staff and shield/ 
By the way, these helpless ones have lately got 

an addition ; Mrs. B having given me a fine 

girl since I wrote you. There is a charming pas- 
sage in Thomson's Edward and Eleanora, 

' The valiant, hi himself, what can he suffer ? 
Or what need he regard his single woes/ &c. 

As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall 
give you another from the same piece, peculiarly, 
alas, too peculiarly opposite, my dear Madam, tp 
your present frame of mind ; 

'Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him 
With his fair-weather virtue, that exults 
Glad o'er the summer main ? the tempest comes. 
The rough winds rage aloud ; when from the helm 
This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies 
Lamenting — Heaven ! if privileged from trial. 
How cheap a thing were virtue !' 

I do not remember to have heard you mention 
Thomson's dramas. I pick up favourite quota- 
tions, and store them in my mind as ready armour, 
offensive, or defensive, amid the struggle of this 
turbulent existence. Of these is one, a very fa- 
vourite one, from his Alfred. 

' Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds 
And offices of life ; to life itself. 
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose.' 
2 K 



( 250 ) 

Probably I have quoted some of these to you 
formerly, as indeed when I write from the heart, 
I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. The 
compass of the heart, in the musical style of ex- 
pression, is much more bounded than that of the 
imagination ; so the notes of the former are ex- 
tremely apt to run into one another ; but in return 
for the paucity of its compass, its few notes are 
much more sweet. 1 must still give you another 
quotation, which I am almost sure I have given 
you before, but I cannot resist the temptation. 
The subject is religion — speaking of its importance 
to mankind, the author says, 

' 'Tis thisj my friend, that streaks our morning bright/ &c. 

as in p. 167. 

I see you are in for double postage, so I shall 
e'en scribble out t'other sheet. We in this country 
here, have many alarms of the reforming, or rather 
the republican spirit, of your part of the kingdom. 
Indeed we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. 
For me, I am a placeman, you know ; a very 
humble one indeed, Heaven knows, but still so 
much so as to gag me. What my private senti- 
ments are, you will find out without an inter- 
preter. 

******** 

I have taken up the subject in another view, 
and the other day, for a pretty Actress's benefit- 
night, I wrote an address, which I will give on 
the other page, called The Rights of Woman j^' 

I shall have the honour of receiving your criti- 
cisms in person at Dunlop. 

* See Poems p. 260. 



{ 251 ) 

No. 129. 
TO MISS B*^^' *, OF YORK. 

21*/ March, 1793. 

Madam, 

A.MONG many things for which I envy 
those hale, long-lived old fellows before the flood, 
is this in particular, that when they met with any 
body after their own heart, they had a charming 
long prospect of many, many happy meetings 
with them in after-life. 

Now, in this short, stormy, winter day of our 
fleeting existence, when you now and then, in 
the Chapter of Accidents, meet an individual 
whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there are 
all the probabilities against you, that you shall 
never meet with that valued character more. On 
the other hand, brief as this miserable being is, it 
is none of the least of the miseries belonging to it, 
that if there is any miscreant whom you hate, or 
creature whom you despise, the ill-run of the 
chances shall be so against you, that in the over- 
takings, turning, and jostlings of life, pop, at 
some unlucky corner, eternally comes the wretch 
upon you, and will not allow your indignation or 
contempt a moment's repose. As I am a sturdy 
believer in the powers of darkness, 1 take these to 
be the doings of that old author of mischief, the 
devil. It is well known that he has some kind of 
short-hand way of taking down our thoughts, and 
I make no doubt that he is perfectly acquainted 



( 252 ) 

with my sentiments, respecting jMiss B ; how- 
much I admired her abilities and vahied her worth, 
and how very fortunate 1 thought myself in her 
acquaintance. For this last reason, my dear Ma- 
dam, I must entertain no hopes of the very great 
pleasure of meeting with you again. 

Miss H tells me that she is sending a packet 

to you, and I beg leave to send you the inclosed 
sonnet, though, to tell you the real truth, the 
sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may have the 
opportunity of declaring with how mucli respect- 
ful esteem I have the honour to be, <Scc. 



No. 130. 
TO MISS C****. 

August, 1793. 

Madam, 

J^OME rather unlooked for accidents have 
prevented my doing myself the honour of a second 
visit to Arbiegland, as I was so hospitably invited, 
and so positively meant to have done. How^ever, 
I still hope to have that pleasure before the busy 
months of harvest begin. 

I inclose you two of my late pieces, as some 
kind of return for the pleasure I have received in 
perusing a certain MS. volume of poems in the 
possession of Captain Riddel. To repay one with 
an old song, is a proverb, whose force, you, ^la- 
dam, I know will not allow. What is said of 
illustrious descent is, I believe, equally true of a 



( 253 ) 

talent for poetry ; none ever despised it who had 
pretensions to it. The fates and characters of the 
rhyming tribe often employ my thoughts when I 
am disposed to be melancholy. There is not 
among all the martyrologies that ever were pen- 
ned, so rueful a narrative as the lives of the poets. 
— In the comparative view of wretches, the cri- 
terion is not what they are doomed to suffer, but 
how they are formed to bear. Take a being of 
our kind, give him a stronger imagination and a 
more delicate sensibility, which between them will 
ever engender a more ungovernable set of passions 
than are the usual lot of man ; implant in him an 
irresistible impulse to some idle vagary, such as, 
arranging wild flowers in fantastical nosegays, 
tracing the grasshopper to his haunt by his chirp- 
ing song, watching the frisks of the little minnows 
in the sunny pool, or hunting after the intrigues 
of butterflies — in short, send him adrift after some 
pursuit which shall eternally mislead him from the 
paths of lucre, and yet curse him with a keener 
relish than any man living for the pleasures that 
lucre can purchase; lastly, fill up the measure of 
his woes by bestowing on him a spurning sense of 
his own dignity, and you have created a wight 
nearly as miserable as a poet. To you, Madam, 
I need not recount the fairy pleasures the muse 
bestows to counterbalance this catalogue of evils. 
Bewitching poetry is like bewitching woman ; she 
has in all ages been accused of misleading mankind 
from the counsels of wisdom and the paths of pru- 
dence, involving them in difficulties, baiting them 
w;ith poverty, branding them with infamy, and 
plunging them in the whirling vortex of ruin ; 



( 254 ) 

yet, where is the man but must own that all our 
happiness on earth is not Avorthy the name — that 
even the holy hermit's solitary prospect of para- 
disaical bliss is but the glitter of a northern sun, 
rising over a frozen region, compared witli the 
many pleasures, the nameless raptures that we 
owe to the lovely Queen of the heart of ]Man ! 



No. 131, 
TO JOHN IM^MURDO, ESQ. 

December, ITO^* 

Sir, 

XT is said that we take the greatest liber- 
ties with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a 
very high compliment in the manner in which I 
am going to apply the remark. I have owed you 
money longer than ever I owed it to any man. — 
Here is Ker's account, and here are six guineas ; 
and now, I don't owe a shilling to man — ^or wo- 
man either. But for these damned dirty, dog's- 
ear'd little pages,* 1 had done myself the honour 
to have waited on you long ago. Independent of 
the obligations your hospitality has laid me under; 
the consciousness of your superiority in the rank 
of man and gentleman, of itself was fully as much 
as I could ever make head against; but to owe 
you money too, was more than I could face, 

* Scottish Bank Notes^ 



( 255 ) 

I think I once mentioned something of a col- 
lection of Scots songs I have for some years been 
making: I send you a perusal of what I have got 
together. I could not conveniently spare them 
above five or six days, and five or six glances of 
them will probably more than suffice you. A 
very few of them are my owm. When you are 
tu'ed of them, please leave them with Mr. Clint, 
of the King's Arms. There is not another copy 
of the collection in the world ; and I should be 
sorry that any unfortunate negligence should de- 
prive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains. 



No. 132. 
TO MRS. R*****. 

Who IV as to her peak a Play one Evening at the Durnfries Theatre. 

J. AM thinking to send my Address to 
some periodical publication, but it has not got 
your sanction, so pray look over it. 

As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you, 
my dear JNIadam, let me beg of you to give us, 
The Wonder a Woman keeps a Secret ; to which 
please add, The Spoilt Child— yon will highly 
oblige me by so doing. 

Ah, what an enviable creature you are ! There 
now this cursed gloomy blue-devil day, you are 
going to a party of choice spirits— 

^ To play the shapes 
Of frolic fancy, and incessant form 
Those rapid pictures, that assembled train 



( ^o6 ) 

Of fleet ideas, never join'd before. 

Where lively 7vii excites to gay surprise ; 

Or folly-painting humour, grave himself, 

Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve/ 

But as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, 
do also remember to weep with them that weep, 
and pity your melancholy friend. 



No. 133. 

To a Lady in favour of a Players Benefit. 
Madam, 

JL OU were so very good as to promise 
me to honour my friend with your presence on 
his benefit-night. That night is fixed for Friday 
first : the play a most interesting one ! The Way 
to keep Hivi. I have the pleasure to know Mr. 
G. well. His merit as an actor is generally ac- 
knowledged. He has genius and worth which 
would do honour to patronage ; he is a poor and 
modest man : claims which from their very silence 
have the more forcible power on the generous 
heart. Alas, for pity ! that from the indolence of 
those who have the good things of this life in their 
gift, too often does brazen-fronted importunity 
snatch that boon, the rightful due of retiring, 
humble, want ! Of all the qualities we assign to 
the author and director of Nature, by far the most 
enviable is- -to be able 'to wipe away all tears 
from all eyes.' O what insignificant, sordid 
wretches are they, however chance may have 



( 257 ) 

loaded them with wealth, who go to their graves, 
to their magnificent mausoleums, with hardly the 
consciousness of having made one poor honest 
heart happy ! 

But I crave your pardon. Madam; I came to 
beg, not to preach. 



No. 134. 
EXTRACT OF A LETTER, 

TO MR. . 

1794. 

X AM extremely obliged to you for your 
kind mention of my interests, in a letter which 
Mr. S*** shewed me. At present, my situation 
in life must be in a great measure stationary, at 
least for two or three years. The statement is 
this — I am on the supervisor's list; and as we 
come on there by precedency, in two or three 
years I shall be at the head of that list, and be ap- 
pointed of course — then, a Friend might be of 
service to me in getting me into a place of the 
kingdom which 1 would like. A supervisor's in- 
come varies from about a hundred and twenty, to 
two hundred a year; but the business is an inces- 
sant drudgery, and would be nearly a compleat 
bar to every species of literary pursuit. The mo- 
ment I am appointed supervisor in the common 
routine, I may be nominated on the Collector's 
list; and this is always a business purely of politi- 

2 L 



( 25S ) 

eal patronage. A collectorship varies much, from 
better than two hundred a year to near a thousand. 
They also come forward by precedency on the list, 
and have, besides a handsome income, a life of 
complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, with 
a decent competence, is the summit of my wishes* 
— It would be the prudish affectation of silly pride 
in me, to say that I do not need or would not be 
indebted to a political friend : at the same time, 
Sir, I by no means lay my affairs before you thus, 
to hook my dependent situation on your benevo- 
lence. If, in my progress of life, an opening 
should occur where the good offices of a gentle- 
man of your public character and political conse- 
quence might bring me forward, I will petition 
your goodness with the same frankness and sin- 
cerity as I now do myself the honour to subscribe 
myself, &c. 



No. 135. 
TO MRS. R***** 

Dear Madam, 

J. MEANT to have called on you yester- 
night, but as I edged up to your box-door, the 
first object which greeted my view, was one of 
those lobster-coated puppies, sitting like another 
dragon, guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the 
conditions and capitulations you so obligingly 
offer, I shall certainly make my weather-beaten 



( 259 ) 

rustic phiz a part of your box-furniture on Tues- 
day ; when we may arrange the business of tl>e 
visit. 

y^ '7^ 7^ ^ ^^ y^ 

Among the profusion of idle compliments, 
which insidious craft, or unmeaning folly, inces- 
santly offer at your shrine — a shrine, how far ex- 
alted above such adoration — permit me, w^ere it 
but for rarity's sake, to pay you the honest tribute 
of a warm heart and an independent mind ; and 
to assure you, that I am, thou most amiable, and 
most accomplished of thy sex, with the most re- 
spectful esteem, and fervent regard, thine, kc. 



No, 136. 
TO THE SAME. 



X WILL wait on yoti, my ever valued 
friend, but whether in the morning I am not sure. 
Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue busi- 
ness, and may probably keep me employed with 
my pen until noon. Fine employment for a poet's 
pen ! There is a species of the human genus that 
I call the gin-horse class : what enviable dogs they 
are. Round, and round, and round they go, — 
Mundell's ox, that drives his cotton mill, is their 
exact prototype — without an idea or wish beyond 
their circle ; fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and 
contented; while here I sit, altogether Novem- 
berish, a d melange of fretfulness and melan- 
choly; not enough of the one to rouse me to 



( 260 ) 

passion, nor of the other to repose me in torpor ; 
my soul flouncing and fluttering round her tene- 
ment, like a wild finch, caught amid the horrors 
of winter, and newly thrust into a cage. Well, 
I am persuaded that it was of me the Hebrew sage 
prophesied, when he foretold — 'And behold, on 
whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it shall 
not prosper !' If my resentment is awakened, it 
is sure to be where it dare not squeak : and if— 

* * T^ * -» * 

Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent 
visitors of 

R. B. 



No. 137. 
TO THE SAME. 



J. HAVE this moment got the song from 
S***, and I am sorry to see that he has spoilt it a 
good deal. It shall be a lesson to me how I lend 
him any thing again. 

I have sent you We?^ter, truly happy to have 
any the smallest opportunity of obliging you. 

'Tis true. Madam, I saw you once since I was 

at W ; and that once froze the very life-blood 

of my heart. Your reception of me w^as such, 
that a wretch meeting the eye of his judge about 
to pronounce sentence of death on him, could only 
have envied my feelings and situation. But I 
hate the theme, and never more shall write or 
speak on it. 



( 261 ) 

One thing I shall proudly say, that I can pay 
Mrs. a higher tribute of esteem, and appre- 
ciate her amiable worth more truly, than any man 
whom I have seen approach her. 



No. 138. 
TO THE SAME. 

X HAVE often told you, my dear friend, 
that you had a spice of caprice in your composi- 
tion, and you have as often disavowed it; even 
perhaps while your opinions were, at the moment, 
irrefragably proving it. Could any thing estrange 
me from a friend such as you ? — No ! To-morrow 
I shall have the honour of waiting on you. 

Farewell, thou first of friends, and most accom- 
plished of women ; even with all thy little caprices ! 



No. 139. 
TO THE SAME. 

Madam, 

JL RETURN your common-place book. 
I have perused it with much pleasure, and would 
have continued my criticisms : but as it seems the 
critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must 
lose their value. 



( 262 ) 

If it is true that ' offences come only from the 
heart,' before you I am guiltless. To admire, 
esteem, and prize you, as the most accomplished 
of women, and the first of friends — if these are 
crimes, I am the most offending thing alive. 

In a face where I used to meet the kind com- 
placency of friendly confidence, 7iow to find cold 
neglect, and contemptuous scorn — is a wrench 
that my heart can ill bear. It is, however, some 
kind of miserable good luck ; that while de-haut- 
en-has rigour may depress an unoffending wretch 
to the ground, it has a tendency to rouse a stub- 
born something in his bosom, which, though it 
cannot heal the wounds of his soul, is at least an 
opiate to blunt their poignancy. 

With the profoundest respect for your abilities ; 
the most sincere esteem, and ardent regard, for 
your gentle heart and amiable manners; and the 
most fervent wish and prayer for your welfare, 
peace, and bliss, I have the honour to be. Ma- 
dam, your most devoted humble servant. 



No. 140. 
TO JOHN SYME, ESQ. 

X OU know that, among other high dig- 
nities, you have the honour to be my supreme 
court of critical judicature, from which there is no 
appeal. I inclose you a song which I composed 
since I saw you, and I am going to give you the 
history of it. Do you know that among much 



( 263 ) 

that I admire in the characters and manners of 
those great folks whom I have now the honour to 
call my acquaintances, the O***** family, there is 
nothing charms me more than Mr. O's unconceal- 
able attachment to that incomparable woman. 
Did you ever, my dear Syme, meet with a man 
who owed more to the Pi/ine Giver of all good 
things than Mr. O? A fine fortune; a pleasing 
exterior ; self-evident amiable dispositions, and an 
ingenuous upright mind, and that informed too 
much beyond the usual run of young fellows of 
his rank and fortune : and to all this, such a wo- 
man !— but of her I shall say nothing at all, in de- 
spair of saying any thing adequate : in my song, 
I have endeavoured to do justice to what would 
be his feelings, on seeing, in the scene I have 
drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. As I am a 
good deal pleased with my performance, I, in my 

first fervour, thought of sending it to JNIrs. O ; 

but on second thoughts, perhaps what I offer aJ 
the honest incense of genuine respect, might, from 
the well-known character of poverty and poetry, 
be construed into some modification, or other of 
that servility which my soul abhors.* 

* The song inclosed was 'O wat ye wha's in yon town. 
^ee Poems, p. 485. 



( 264 ) 

No. 141. 
TO MISS — . 

Madam, 

IVOTHING short of a kind of absolute 
necessity could have made me trouble you with 
this letter. Except my ardent and just esteem 
for your sense, taste, and worth, every sentiment 
arising in my breast, as I put pen to paper to you, 
is painful. The scenes I have past with the friend 
of my soul, and his amiable connections! The 
wrench at my heart to think that he is gone, for 
ever gone from me, never more to meet in the 
wanderings of a weary world ! and the cutting re- 
flection of all, that I had most unfortunately, 
though most undeservedly, lost the confidence of 
that soul of worth, ere it took its flight ! 

These, Madam, are sensations of no ordinary 
anguish. — However, you also may be offended 
with some imputed improprieties of mine ; sensi- 
bility you know I possess, and sincerity none will 
deny me. 

To oppose those prejudices which have been 
raised against me, is not the business of this letter. 
Indeed it is a warfare I know not how to wage. 
The powers of positive vice I can in some degree 
calculate, and against direct m.alevolence I can be 
on my gaurd ; but who can estimate the fatuity of 
giddy caprice, or ward off' the unthinking mischief 
of precipitate folly ? 



( 265 ) 

Iliave a favour to request of you, Madam; and 

of your sister Mrs. , through your means. 

You know that at the wish of my \ate friend, I 
made a collection of all my trifles in verse which 
I had ever written. They are many of them local, 
some of them puerile and silly, and all of them 
unfit for the public eye. As I have some little 
fame at stake, a fame that I trust may live, when 
the hate of those who * watch for my halting,' and 
the contumelious sneer of those whom accident 
has made my superiors, will, with themselves, be 
gone to the regions of oblivion ; I am uneasy now 

for the fate of those manuscripts. — Will INIrs. 

have the goodness to destroy them, or return 
them to me? As a pledge of friendship they were 
bestowed; and that circumstance indeed was all 
their merit. Most unhappily for me, that merit 

they no longer possess, and I hope that Mrs. ^'s 

goodness, which I w^ell know, and ever will re- 
vere, will not refuse this favour to a man whom 
she once held in some degree of estimation. 

With the sincerest esteem I have the honour to 
be, Madam, kc. 



No. 142. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

^5th Febriiary, 179^- 

VyANST thou minister to a mind dis- 
eased? Canst thou speak peace and rest to a soul 
tost on a sea of troubles, without one friendly star 
12 2 M 



{ 266 ) 

to guide her course, and dreading that the next 
surge may overwhelm her ? Canst thou give to 
a frame, tremblingly alive as the tortures of sus- 
pense, the stability and hardihood of the rock that 
braves the blast ? If thou canst not do the least 
of these, why wouldst thou disturb me in my 

miseries, with thy inquiries after me ? 

iij ^ ^ ^- * * 

For these two months I have not been able to 
Jift a pen. My constitution and frame were, ab 
origine, blasted with a deep incurable taint of hy- 
pochondria, w^hich poisons my existence. Of late 
a number of domestic vexations, and some pecu- 
niary share in the ruin of these **--^^^^- times ; losses 
which, though trifling, w^re yet what I could ill 
bear, have so irritated me, that my feelings at 
times could only be envied by a reprobate spirit 
listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition. 

Are you deep in the language of consolation ? 
I have exhausted in reflection every topic of com- 
fort. A heart at ease would have been cliarmed 
with my sentiments and reasonings; but as to 
myself, I was like Judas Iscariot preaching the 
gospel; he might melt and mould the hearts of 
those around him, but his own kept its native in- 
corrigibility. 

Still there are two great pillars that bear us up, 
amid the wreck of misfortune and misery. The 
ONE is composed of the different modifications of 
a certain noble, stubborn something in man, 
known by the names of courage, fortitude, mag- 
nanimity. The OTHER is made up of those feel- 
ings and sentiments, which, however the sceptic 
may deny tliem, or the enthusiast disfigure them, 



( 267 ) 

are yet, I am convinced, original and component 
parts of the human soul ; those senses of the mind, 
if I may be allowed the expression, which connect 
us with, and link us to, those awful obscure 
realities — an all powerful and equally beneficent 
God ; and a world to come, beyond death and the 
grave. The first gives the nerve of combat, while 
a ray of hope beams on the field : — the last pours 
the balm of comfort into the wounds which time 
can never cure. 

I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that 
you and I ever talked on the subject of religion at 
all. I know some w4io laugh at it, as the trick of 
the crafty few, to lead the undiscerning many ; 
or at most as an uncertain obscurity, which man- 
kind can never know any thing of, and with which 
they are fools if they give themselves much to do. 
Nor would I quarrel with a man for his irreligion, 
any more than I would for his want of a musical 
ear. I would regret that he was shut out fi'om 
what, to me and to others were such superlative 
sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, 
and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the 
mind of every child of mine with religion. If my 
son should happen to be a man of feeling, senti- 
ment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his 
enjoyments. Let me flatter myself that this 
sweet little fellow, who is just now running about 
my desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, 
glowing heart; and an imagination, delighted 
with the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let 
me figure him, wandering out in a sw^eet evening, 
to inhale the balmy gales, and enjoy the growing 
luxuriance of the spring ; himself the while in the 



( 268 ) 

blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all 
nature, and through nature up to nature's God, 
His soul, by swift, delighting degrees, is rapt 
above this sublunary sphere, until he can be silent 
no longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthu- 
siasm of Thomson, 

'^ These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. — The rolling year 
Is full of thee/ 

And so on in all the spirit and ardour of that 
charming hymn. 

These are no ideal pleasures ; they are real de- 
lights ; and I ask what of the delights among the 
sons of men are superior, not to say, equal to 
them ? And they have this precious, vast addition, 
that conscious virtue stamps them for her own ; 
and lays hold on them to bring herself into the 
presence of a witnessing, judging, and approving 
God. 



No. 143. 
TO MRS. R^*** 

Supposes himself to be writing from the Dead to the Living, 

Madam, 

Jl DARE say this is the first epistle you 
ever received from this neither-world. I write 
you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors of 
the damned. The time and manner of my leaving 



{ 269 ) 

your earth I do not exactly know ; as I took my 
departure in the heat of a fever of intoxication, 
contracted at your too hospitable mansion ; but 
on my arrival here, I was fairly tried, and sen- 
tenced to endure the purgatorial tortures of this 
infernal confine, for the space of ninety-nine years, 
eleven months, and twenty-nine days ; and all on 
account of the impropriety of my conduct yester- 
night under your roof Here am I, laid on a bed 
of pitiless furze, with my aching head reclining 
on a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infer- 
nal tormentor, wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his 
name I think is Becollectio?i, with a whip of scor- 
pions, forbids peace or rest to approach me, and 
keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if 
1 could in any measure be reinstated in the good 
opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last 
night so much injured, I think it would be an 
alleviation to my torments. For this reason I 
trouble you with this letter. To the men of the 
company I will make no apology. — Your husband, 
who insisted on my drinking more than I chose, 
has no right to blame me ; and the other gentle- 
men were partakers of my guilt. But to you, 
Madam, I have much to apologize. Your good 
opinion I valued as one of the greatest acquisitions 
I had made on earth, and I was truly a beast to 

forfeit it. There was a Miss I too, a woman 

of fine sense, gentle and unassuming manners — 
do make on my part, a miserable d — d wretch's 

best apology to her. A Mrs. G , a charming 

woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in 
my favour; this makes me hope that I have not 
outraged her beyond all forgiveness. — To all the 



( 270 ) 

other ladies please present my humblest contrition 
for my conduct, and my petition for their gracious 
pardon. O all ye powers of decency and decorum ! 
whisper to them, that my errors, though great, 
were involuntary — that an intoxicated man is the 
vilest of beasts — that it was not in my nature to 
be brutal to any one — that to be rude to a woman, 
when in my senses, was impossible with me — 
but— 

******** 

Regret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hell- 
hounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my 
heels, spare me ! spare me ! 

Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition of. 
Madam, your humble slave. 



No. 144. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

15th December, 1795. 

My dear Friend, 

As I am in a complete Decemberish hu- 
mour, gloomy, sullen, stupid, as even the deity 
of Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl 
out a heavy letter with a number of heavier apo- 
logies for my late silence. Only one I shall men- 
tion, because I know you will sympathise in it : 
these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest 
child, has been so ill, that every day, a week or 
less threatened to terminate her existence. There 
had much need be many pleasures annexed to the 



( 271 ) 

states of husband and father, for God knows, they 
have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to 
you the anxious, sleepless hours those t\es fre- 
quently give me. I see a train of helpless little 
folks ; me and my exertions all their stay ; and on 
what a brittle thread does the life of man hang ! 
If I am nipt off at the command of fate ; even in 
all the vigour of manhood as I am, such things 
happen every day — gracious God ! what would 
become of my little flock ! 'Tis here that I envy 
your people of fortune. — A father on his deathbed, 
taking an everlasting leave of his children, has in- 
deed woe enough ; but the man of competent for- 
tune leaves his sons and daughters independency 
and friends; while I — but I shall run distracted 
if I think any longer on the subject ! 

To leave talking of the matter so gravely, T 
shall sing with the old Scots ballad — 

^ O that I had ne'er been married, 

I would never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 

They cry, crowdie, evermair. 

Crowdie ! ance ; crowdie ! twice ; 

Crowdie ! three times in a day : 
An ye, crowdie 1 ony mair, 

Ye'll, crowdie a' my meal away.' 

******** 

December 9.Uh. 

We have had a brilliant theatre here this sea- 
son ; only, as all other business has, it experiences 
a stagnation of trade from the epidemical com- 
plaint of the country, want of cash. I mention 
our theatre merely to lug in an occasional Address 



( 272 ) 

which I wrote for the benefit night of one of the 
actresses.* 

25th, Christmas Morning. 

This, my much loved friend, is a morning of 
wishes : accept mine — so Heaven hear me, as they 
are sincere ! that blessings may attend your steps, 
and affliction know you not! In the charming 
words of my favourite author, The Man of Feel- 
ijig, 'May the great spirit bear up the weight of 
thy grey hairs ; and blunt the arrow that brings 
them rest !' 

Now that 1 talk of authors, how do you like 
Cowper ? Is not the Task a glorious poem ? The 
religion of the Task, bating a few scraps of Cal- 
vinistic divinity, is the religion of God and Na- 
ture ; the religion that exalts, that ennobles man. 
Were not you to send me your Zeluco in return 
for mine? Tell me how you like my marks and 
notes through the book, I would not give a far- 
thing for a book, unless I were at liberty to blot 
it with my criticisms. 

I have lately collected, for a friend's perusal, 
all my letters ; I mean those which I first sketch- 
ed, in a rough draught, and afterwards wrote out 
fair. On looking over some old musty papers, 
which from time to time, I had parcelled by, as 
trash that were scarce worth preserving, and which 
yet at the same time I did not care to destroy ; I 
discovered many of these rude sketches, and have 
written, and am writing them out, in a boimd 
MS. for my friend's library. As I wrote always 
to you the rhapsody of the moment, I cannot find 

* See Poems, p. 257. 



( 273 ) 

a single scroll to you, except one, about the com- 
mencement of our acquaintance. If there were 
any possible conveyance, I would send you a 
perusal of my book. 



No. 145. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP, IN LONDON. 

Dumfries, 20th Dec. 1795. 

X HAVE been prodigiously disappointed 
in this London journey of yours. In the first 
place, when your last to me reached Dumfries, I 
was in the country, and did not return until too 
late to answer your letter; in the next place, I 
thought you would certainly take this route ; and 
now I know not what is become of you, or 
whether this may reach you at all. — God grant 
that it may find you and yours in prospering 
health and good spirits. Do let me hear from 
you the soonest possible. 

As I hope to get a frank from my friend Cap- 
tain Miller, I shall, every leisure hour, take up 
the pen, and gossip away whatever comes first, 
prose or poesy, sermon or song. In this last ar- 
ticle I have abounded of late. I have often men- 
tioned to you a superb publication of Scottish 
songs w^hich is making its appearance in your 
great metropolis, and where I have the honour to 
preside over the Scottish verse, as no less a per- 
sonage than Peter Pindar does over the English. 

2 N 



( 274 ) 

December ^Qtk. 

Since I began this letter, I have been appointed 
to act in the capacity of supervisor here, and I 
assure you, what with the load of business, and 
w^hat with that business being new to me, I could 
scarcely have commanded ten minutes to have 
spoken to you, had you been in town, much less 
to have written you an epistle. This appointment 
is only temporary, and during the illness of the 
present incumbent ; but I look forward to an early 
period when 1 shall be appointed in full form : a 
consummation devoutly to be wished ! My poli- 
tical sins seem to be forgiven me. 



This is the season (New-year's day is now my 
date) of wishing; and mine are most fervently 
offered up for you ! May life to you be a posi- 
tive blessing, while it lasts, for your own sake; 
and that it may yet be greatly prolonged, is my 
wish for my own sake, and for the sake of the 
rest of your friends ! What a transient business 
is life ! Very lately I was a boy ; but t'other day 
I was a young man ; and I already begin to feel 
the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age 
coming fast o'er my frame. With all my follies 
of youth, and I fear, a few vices of manhood, still 
I congratulate myself on having had in early days, 
religion strongly imprinted on my mind. I have 
nothing to say to any one as to which sect he be- 
longs to, or what ci'eed he believes; but I look 
on the man, who is firmly persuaded of infinite 
wisdom and goodness, superintending and direct- 
ing every circumstance that can happen in his lot 



( 275 ) 

—I felicitate such a man as having a solid founda- 
tion for his mental enjoyment; a firm prop and 
sure stay, in the hour of difficulty, trouble, and 
distress ; and a never-failing anchor of hope, when 
he looks beyond the grave. 



January I2tk. 

You will have seen our worthy and ingenious 
friend, the doctor, long ere this. I hope he is 
well, and beg to be remembered to him. I have 
just been reading over again, I dare say for the 
hundred and fiftieth time, his Vieiv of Society and 
Manners ; and still 1 read it with deHght. His 
humour is perfectly original— it is neither the hu- 
mour of Addison, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor of 
any body but Dr. Moore. By the bye, you have 
deprived me of Zeluco ; remember that, when you 
are disposed to rake up the sins of my neglect 
from among the ashes of my laziness. 

He has paid me a pretty compliment, by quoting 
me in his last publication.* 



No. 146. 
TO MRS. R*^***. 

20tk January, 1796. 

JL CANNOT express my gratitude to you 
fbr allowing me a longer perusal of A?iacharsis. 

* Edward. 



( 276 ) 

In fact I never met with a book tliat bewitched 
me so much ; and I as a member of the library 
must warmly feel the obligation you have laid us 
under. Indeed to me, the obligation is stronger 
than to any other individual of our society ; as 
Anacharsis is an indispensible desideratum to a 
son of the muses. 

The health you wished me in your morning's 
card is, I think flown from me for ever. I have 
not been able to leave my bed to-day till about 
an hour ago. These wickedly unlucky advertise- 
ments I lent (I did wrong), to a friend, and I am 
ill able to go in quest of him. 

The muses have not quite forsaken me. The 
following detached stanzas I intend to interweave 
in some disastrous tale of a shepherd. 



No. 147. 
TO MRS. DUN LOP. 

31^/ Januartj, 179^. 

X HESE many months you have been 
two packets in my debt— what sin of ignorance I 
have committed against so highly valued a friend 
I am utterly at a loss to guess. Alas ! Madam, 
ill can I afford, at this time, to be deprived of any 
of the small remnant of my pleasures. I have 
lately drunk deep of the cup of affliction. The 
autumn robbed me of my only daughter and dar- 
ling child, and that at a distance too, and so 



( 277 ) 

rapidly, as to put it out of my power to pay the 
last duties to her. I had scarcely begun to re- 
cover from that shock, when I became myself the 
victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long 
the die spun doubtful ; until after many weeks of 
a sick bed, it seems to have turned up life, and 
I am beginning to crawl across my room, and 
once indeed have been before my own door in the 
street. 

When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, 

Affliction purifies the visual ray, 
Religion hails the drear the untried night. 

That shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful da\'. 



No. 148. 

TO ]\1RS. R***^^^. 

Who had desired him to go to the Birth-day Assembly on that day 
to shew his loyalty. 

4>th June, 1796. 

L AM in such miserable health as to be 
utterly incapable of shewing my loyalty in any 
way. Rackt as I am with rheumatisms, 1 meet 
every face wdth a greeting like that of Balak to 
Balaam—' Come curse me Jacob ; and come defy 
me Israel !' So say I— Come curse me that east 
wind; and come, defy me the north! Would 
you have me in such circumstances copy you out 
a love-sonc: ? 

* «- * «^ ^ * 



{ il!78 ) 

I may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I will 
not be at the ball.— Why should I ? * Man delights 
not me, nor woman either !' Can you supply me 
with the song, Let us all be unhappy together — 
do if you can, and oblige le pauvi^e miserable. 

R. B. 



No. 149. 
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Brow, Sea-bath'mg quarters, 
Ith. July, 1796. 

My dear Cunningham, 

J. RECEIVED yours here this moment, 
and am indeed highly flattered with the approba- 
tion of the literary circle you mention ; a literary 
circle inferior to none in the two kingdoms. Alas ! 
my friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon 
be heard among you no more ! For these eight or 
ten months I have been ailing, sometimes bedfast 
and sometimes not ; but these last three months I 
have been tortured with an excruciating rheuma- 
tism, which has reduced me to nearly the last 
stage. You actually would not know me if you 
saw me. — Pale, emaciated, and so feeble, as occa- 
sionally to need help from my chair — my spirits 
fled ! fled ! — but I can no more on the subject — 
only the medical folks tell me that my last and 
only chance is bathing and country quarters, and 
riflino-. — The deuce of the matter is this ; w^hen an 



o 



( 279 ) 

exciseman is off duty, his salary is reduced to £35 
instead of £50 — What way, in the name of thrift, 
shall I maintain myself and keep a horse in coun- 
try quarters — with a wife and five children at 
home, on £35? I mention this, because I had 
intended to beg your utmost interest, and that of 
all the friends you can muster, to move our com- 
missioners of excise to grant me the full salary. — 
I dare say you know them all personally. If they 
do not grant it me, I must lay my account with 
an exit truly en poete ; if I die not of disease, I 
must perish with hunger. 

I have sent you one of the songs ; the other my 
memory does not serve me with, and I have no 
copy here ; but I shall be at home soon, when I 
will send it you. — Apropos to being at home, Mrs. 
Burns threatens in a week or two, to add one more 
to my paternal charge, which, if of the right gen- 
der, I intend shall be introduced to the world by 
the respectable designation of Aleccandei' Cunning' 
ham Burns, My last was James Glencaiim, so 
you can have no objection to the company of no- 
bilitv. Farewell. 



No. 150. 
TO MRS. BURNS. 

Brow, Thursday, 



My dearest Love, 

1 DELAYED writing until I could tell 
you what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. 



( 280 ) 

It would be injustice to deny that it has eased my 
pains, and I think has strengthened me ; but my 
appetite is still extremely bad. No flesh nor fish 
can I swallow : porridge and milk are the only 
thing I can taste. I am very happy to hear, by 
Miss Jess Lewars, that you are all well. My very 
best and kindest compliments to her and to all the 
children. I will see you on Sunday. Your af- 
fectionate husband, R. B. 



No. 151. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

mhJuly, 1796. 

Madam, 

JL HAVE written you so often, without 
receiving any answer, that I would not trouble 
you again, but for the circumstances in which I 
am. An illness which has long hung about me, 
in all probability will speedily send me beyond 
that bourn ivhence no travelle?^ returns. Your 
friendship, with which for many years you ho- 
noured me, was a friendship dearest to my soul. 
Your conversation, and especially your correspon- 
dence, were at once highly entertaining and in- 
structive. With what pleasure did I use to break 
up the seal ! The remembrance yet adds one pulse 
more to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell ! ! ! 

R. B. 

The above is supposed to be the last production of Robert 
Burns, who died on the 21st of the month, nine days after- 



( 281 ) 

No. 152. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, Septeinher, 1792. 

Sir, 

X OR some years past, I have, with a 
friend or two, employed many leisure hours in 
selecting and collating the most favourite of our 
national melodies for publication. We have en- 
gaged Pleyel, the most agreeable composer living, 
to put accompaniments to these, and also to com- 
pose an instrumental prelude and conclusion to 
each air, the better to fit them for concerts, both 
public and private. To render this work perfect, 
we are desirous to have the poetry improved, 
wherever it seems unworthy of the music; and 
that it is so in many instances, is allowed by every 
one conversant with our musical collections. The 
editors of these seem in general to have depended 
on the music proving an excuse for the verses ; 
and hence, some charming melodies are united to 

wards. He had however the pleasure of receiving a satisfactory 
explanation of his friend's silence, and an assurance of the con- 
tinuance of her friendship to his widow and children ; an as- 
surance that has been amply fulfilled. 

It is probable that the greater part of her letters to him were 
destroyed by our bard about the time that this last was written. 
He did not foresee that his own letters to Iier were to appear in 
print, nor conceive the disappointment that will be felt, that a 
few of this excellent lady's have not served to enrich and adorn 
the collection. 

2 O 



( 282 ) 

mere nonsense and doggrel, while others are ac- 
commodated with rhymes so loose and indelicate, 
as cannot be sung in decent company. To remove 
this reproach would be an easy task to the author 
of The Cottei's Saturday Night; and, for the 
honour of Caledonia, I would fain hope he may 
be induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall be 
enabled to present the public with a collection in- 
finitely more interesting than any that has yet ap- 
peared, and acceptable to all persons of taste, 
whether they wish for correct melodies, delicate 
accompaniments, or characteristic verses. — We 
will esteem your poetical assistance a particular 
favour, besides paying any reasonable price you 
shall please to demand for it. Profit is quite a 
secondary consideration with us, and we are re- 
solved to spare neither pains nor expense on the 
publication. Tell me frankly, then, whether you 
will devote your leisure to writing twenty or 
twenty-five songs, suited to the particular melo- 
dies which I am prepared to send you. A few 
songs, exceptionable only in some of their verses, 
I will likewise submit to your consideration; 
leaving it to you, either to mend these, or make 
new songs in their stead. It is superfluous to 
assure you that I have no intention to displace 
any of the sterling old songs ; those only will be 
removed, which appear quite silly, or absolutely 
indecent. Even these shall all be examined by 
"Sir. Burns, and if he is of opinion that any of 
them are deserving of the music, in such cases no 
divorce shall take place. 

Relying on the letter accompanying this, to be 
forgiven for the liberty I have taken in addressing 



( 283 ) 

you, I am, with great esteem, Sir, your most 
obedient humble servant, 

G. THOMSON. 



No. 153. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Dumfries, l6th Sep. 1792. 

Sir, 

X HAVE just this moment got your let- 
ter. As the request you make to me will posi- 
tively add to my enjoyments in complying with 
it, I shall enter into your undertaking with all the 
small portion of abilities I have, strained to their 
utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm. 
Only, don't hurry me: 'Deil tak the hindmost,' 
is by no means the C7^i de guerre of my muse. 
Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in en- 
thusiastic attachment to the poetry and music of 
old Caledonia, and, since you request it, have 
cheerfully promised my mite of assistance — will 
you let me have a list of your airs, with the first 
line of the printed verses you intend for them, that 
I may have an opportunity of suggesting any alter- 
ation that may occur to me. You know 'tis in the 
way of my trade; still leaving you, gentlemen, 
the undoubted right of publishers, to approve, or 
reject, at your pleasure, for your own publication. 
Apropos ! if you are for English verses, there is, 
on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in 
the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the 



( 284. ) 

song, I can only hope to please myself in being 
allowed at least a sprinkling of our native tongue. 
English verses, particularly the works of Scots- 
men, that have merit, are certainly very eligible. 
Tweedside! Ah! the poor shepkerd's mournfid 
fate ! Ah ! Chloris, could I now hut sit, &c. you 
cannot mend ; but such insipid stuff as, 2b Fanny 
fair could I impart, &c., usually set to The Mill 
Mill O, is a disgrace to the collections in which it 
has already appeared, and would doubly disgrace 
a collection that will have the very superior merit 
of yours. But more of this in the farther prose- 
cution of the business, if I am called on for my 
strictures and amendments — I say, amendments; 
for I will not alter except where I myself at least 
think that I amend. 

As to any remuneration, you may think my 
songs either above or below price ; for they shall 
absolutely be the one or the other. In the honest 
enthusiasm with which I embark in your under- 
taking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, kc. 
%vould be downright prostitution of soul! A 
proof of each of the songs that I compose or 
amend, I shall receive as a favour. In the rustic* 
phrase of the season, ' Gude speed the v/ark !' 
I am. Sir, your very humble servant, 

11. BURNS. 

P. S. I have some particular reasons for wishing 
my interference to be known as little as possible. 



( 285 ) 

No. 154 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 13tk Oct 1792. 

Dear Sir, 

I RECEIVED, with much satisfaction, 
your pleasant and obliging letter, and I return 
my warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm 
with which you have entered into our undertaking. 
We have now to doubt of being able to produce a 
collection highly deserving of public attention in 
all respects. 

1 agree with you in thinking English verses 
that have merit, very eligible, wherever new- 
verses are necessary ; because the English becomes 
every year more and more the language of Scot- 
land ; but if you mean that no English verses, 
except those by Scottish authors, ought to be ad- 
mitted, I am half inclined to differ from you. I 
should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice one 
good song in the Scottish dialect, to make room 
for English verses ; but if we can select a few ex- 
cellent ones suited to the unprovided or ill-pro- 
vided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of 
literary patriotism to reject such, merely because 
the authors w^ere born south of the Tweed ? Our 
sweet air. My Nannie O, which in the collections 
is joined to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay 
ever wrote, beginning. While some for pleasure 
pawn their health, answers so finely to Dr. Percy's 
beautiful song, O Nancy ivilt thou go with me. 



( 286 ) 

that one would think he wrote it on purpose for 
the air. However, it is not at all our wish to 
confine you to English verses ; you shall freely be 
allowed a sprinkling of your native tongue, as you 
elegantly express it; and moreover, we will pa- 
tiently wait your own time. One thing only I 
beg, which is, that however gay and sportive the 
muse may be, she may always be decent. Let 
her not write what beauty would blush to speak, 
nor wound that charming delicacy which forms 
the most precious dowry of our daughters. I do 
not conceive the song to be the most proper 
vehicle for witty and brilliant conceits; simpli- 
city, I believe, should be its prominent feature; 
but, in some of our songs, the writers have con- 
founded simplicity with coarseness and vulgarity ; 
although between the one and the other, as Dr, 
Beattie well observes, there is as great a difference 
as betw^een a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of 
rags. The humourous ballad, or pathetic com- 
plaint, is best suited to our artless melodies ; and 
more interesting, indeed, in all songs, than the 
most pointed wit, dazzling descriptions, and 
flowry fancies. 

With these trite observations, I send you eleven 
of the songs, for which it is my wish to substitute 
others of your writing. I shall soon transmit the 
rest, and, at the same time, a prospectus of the 
whole collection : and you may believe we will 
receive any hints that you are so kind as to give 
for improving the work, with the greatest pleasure 
and thankfulness. 

I remain, deai' Sir, &c. 



( 287 ) 

No. 155. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 
My dear Sir, 

JLiET me tell you that you are too fasti- 
dious in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own 
that your criticisms are just ; the songs you specify 
in your list have all, but one, the faults you re- 
mark in them ; but who shall mend the matter ? 
Who shall rise up and say — Go to, I will make a 
better ? For instance, on reading over the Lea- 
rig, I immediately set about trying my hand on 
it, and, after all, I could make nothing more of it 
than the following, which Heaven knows is poor 
enough : — * 

Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr. 
Percy's ballad to the air Nanie O, is just. It is 
besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the 
English language. But let me remark to you, 
that, in the sentiment and style of our Scottish 
airs, there is a pastoral simplicity, a something 
that one may call the Doric style and dialect of 
vocal music, to ^vhich a dash of our native tongue 
and manners is particularly, nay peculiarly, appo- 
site. For this reason, and, upon my honour, for 
this reason alone, I am of opinion (but, as I told 
you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to 
approve, or reject, as you please) that my ballad 
of Nannie O, might, perhaps, do for one set of 

* Here follows the Lea-rig»— See poems, p. S84. 



( 288 ) 

verses to the tune. Now don't let it enter into 
your head, that you are under any necessity of 
taking my verses. I have long ago made up my 
mind as to my own reputation in the business of 
authorship ; and have nothing to be pleased or of- 
fended at, in your adoption or rejection of my 
verses. Though you should reject one half of 
what I give you, I shall be pleased with your 
adopting the other half, and shall continue to serve 
you with the same assiduity. 

In the printed copy of my Nannie O, the name 
of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it, 

* Behold yon hills where Lugar flows/ 

Girvin is the name of the river that suits the 
idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most 
agreeable modulation of syllables. 

I will soon give you a great many more remarks 
on this business ; but I have just now an opportu- 
nity of conveying you this scrawl, free of postage, 
an expence that it is ill able to pay : so, with my 
best compliments to honest Allan, Good be wi' 
ye, &c. 

Friday Night. 



Saturday Morning. 

As I find I have still an hour to spare this 
morning before my conveyance goes away, I will 
give you Nannie O at length.* 

Your remarks on Ewe-hughts, Marion, are 
just: still it has obtained a place among our more 
classical Scottish songs; and what, with many 

* See Poems, p. 372. 



( 289 ) 

beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in 
its favour, you will not find it easy to supplant it. 
In my very early years, when I w-as thinking 
of going to the West Indies, I took the following 
farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and 
has nothing of the merits of Evce-bughts ; but it 
will fill up this page. You must know, that all 
my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ar- 
dent passion ; and though it might have been easy 
in after-times to have given them a polish, yet 
that polish, to me, whose they were, and who 
perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced 
the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully 
incribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity w^as, 
as they say of wines, their race. 

'Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary.' — See Poems, p. 389. 

Galla Water, and Auld Rob Morris, I think, 
w^ill most probably be the next subject of my 
musings. However, even on my verses, speak 
out your criticisms with equal frankness. My 
wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot 
of opinidtrete, but cordially to join issue with you 
in the furtherance of the work. 



No. 156. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

November 8th, 1 792. 

LF you mean my dear Sir, that all the 
songs in your collection shall be poetry of the first 
13 ' 2 P 



( S90 ) 

merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty in 
the undertaking than you are aware of. There is 
a peculiar rhythm us in many of our airs, and a 
necessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or 
what I would call the feature notes of the tune, 
that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost 
insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air. 
My wife's a wanton wee thing, if a few lines 
smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all 
you can expect. The following were made ex- 
tempore to it; and though, on farther study, I 
might give you something more profound, yet 
it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air 
so well as this random clink. 

' My Wife's a winsome wee thing.' — See Poems, p. 387. 



I have just been looking over the Colliei^'s 
bonny Dochter ; and if the following rhapsody, 
which I composed the other day, on a charming 

Ayrshire girl, Miss , as she passed through 

this place to Engknd, will suit your taste better 
than the Collier Lassie, fall on and welcome. 

' O saw ye bonnie Lesley/* &c. — See Poems, p. 390. 



I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more 
patlietic airs, until more leisure, as they will take, 
and deserve, a greater effiart. However, they are 
all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of 
the potter, to make one vessel to honour arnd ano 
iher to dishonour. Farewell, kc. 



( 291 ) 

No. 157. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Uth November, 1792- 

My dear Sir, 

1 AGREE with you that the song, Ka- 
tharine Ogie, is very poor stuflP, and unworthy, 
altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I 
tried to mend it, but the awkward sound Ogie 
recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every at- 
tempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. 
The foregoing song* pleases myself ; I think it is 
in my happiest manner; you will see at first 
glance that it suits the air. The subject of the 
song is one of the most interesting passages of my 
youthful days ; and I own that I should be much 
flattered to see the verses set to an air, which 
would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis 
the still glowing prejudice of my heart, that 
throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the 
composition. 

I have partly taken your idea of Auld Rob 
Morris. I have adopted the two first verses, and 
am going on with the song on a new plan, which 
promises pretty well. I take up one or another, 
just as the bee of the moment buzzes in my bon- 
net-lug ; and do you, sans ceremonie, make what 
use you choose of the productions. Adieu ! &c, 

* * Highland Mary.'— iSee Poeins^ p. 381. 



( 292 ) 

No. 158. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, November, 1792. 

Dear Sir, 

X WAS just going to write to you, that 
on meeting with your Nannie I had fallen vio- 
lently in love with her. I thank you, therefore, 
for sending the charming rustic to me, in the 
dress you wish her to appear before the public. 
She does you great credit, and will soon be ad- 
mitted into the best company. 

I regret that your song for the Lea-rig is so 
short ; the air is easy, soon sung, and very plea- 
sing ; so that, if the singer stops at the end of two 
stanzas, it is a pleasure lost ere it is well possessed. 

Although a dash of our native tongue and man- 
ners is doubtless peculiarly congenial and appro- 
priate to our medodies, yet I shall be able to pre- 
sent a considerable number of the very Flowers of 
English Song, well adapted to those melodies, 
which in England at least will be the means of re- 
commending them to still greater attention than 
they have procured there. But you will observe, 
my plan is, that every air shall, in the first place, 
have verses wholly by Scottish poets; and -.that 
those of English writers shall follow as additional 
songs, for the choice of the singer. - 

What you say of the Ewe-bughts is just; I ad- 
mire it, and never meant to supplant it. All I 



h 




( 293 ) 

requested was, that you would try your hand on 
some of the inferior stanzas, which are apparently 
no part of the original song: but this I do not 
urge, because the song is of sufficient length though 
those inferior stanzas be omitted, as they will be 
by the singer of taste. You must not think I 
expect all the songs to be of superlative merit : 
that were an unreasonable expectation. I am 
sensible that no poet can sit down doggedly to 
pen verses, and succeed well at all times. 

I am highly pleased with your humorous and 
amorous rhapsody on Bonnie Leslie : it is a thou- 
sand times better than the Collier's Lassie, ' The 
deil he could na scaith thee,' kc. is an eccentric 
and happy thought. Do you not think, however, 
that the names of such old heroes as Alexander, 
sound rather queer, unless in pompous or mere 
burlesque verse ? Instead of the line ' And never 
made anither,' I would humbly suggest, 'And 
ne'er made sic anither;' and 1 would fain have 
you substitute some other line for 'Return to 
Caledonie,' in the last verse, because I think this 
alteration of the orthography, and of the sound of 
Caledonia, disfigures the word, and renders it 
Hudibrastic. 

Of the other song, My wife's a winsome wee 
thing, I think the first eight lines very good, but 
I do not admire the other eight, because four of 
them are a bare repetition of the first verse. I 
have been trying to spin a stanza, but could make 
nothing better than the following : do you mend 
it, or, as Yorick did with the love-letter, whip it 
up in your own way. 



( 294 ) 

O leeze me on my wee thing, 
My bonnie blythsome wee thing ; 
Sae lang 's I hae my wee thing, 
I'll think my lot divine. 

Tho' warld's care we share o't. 
And may see meikle mair o't, 
Wi' her I'll blythly bear it. 
And ne'er a word repine. 



You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of 
the liberty which you condescend to allow me, by 
speaking freely what I think. Be assured, it is 
not my disposition to pick out the faults of any 
poem or picture I see : my first and chief object is 
to discover and be delighted with the beauties of 
the piece. If I sit down to examine critically, 
and at leisure, what perhaps you have written in 
haste, I may happen to observe careless lines, the 
re-perusal of which might lead you to improve 
them. The wren will often see what has been 
overlooked by the eagle. 

I remain yours faithfully, &c. 

P. S. Your verses upon Highland Mary are 
just come to hand : they breathe the genuine spirit 
of poetry, and, like the music, will last for ever. 
Such verses united to such an air, with the deli- 
cate harmony of Pleyel superadded, might form a 
treat worthy of being presented to Apollo himself 
1 have heard the sad story of your Mary : you al- 
ways seem inspired when you write of her. 



( 295 ) 

No. 159. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Dumfries, \st December, 1792. 

jL our alterations of my Xannie O are 
perfectly right. So are those of My tvife's a wan- 
ton zvee thirig. Your alteration of the second 
stanza is a positive improvement. Now, my dear 
Sir, with the freedom which characterizes our 
correspondence, I must not, cannot alter Bonnie 
Leslie. You are right, the word 'Alexander' 
makes the line a little uncouth, but I think the 
thought is pretty. Of Alexander, beyond all 
other heroes, it may be said, in the sublime lan- 
guage of Scripture, that ' he went forth conquer- 
ing and to conquer.' 

' For nature made her what she is, 

And never made anither.' (Such a person as she is.) 

This is in my opinion more poetical than ' Ne'er 
made sic anither.' However, it is immaterial: 
make it either way.* 'Caledonie,' I agree with 
you, is not so good a word as could be wished, 
though it is sanctioned in three or four instances 
by Allan Ramsay : But I cannot help it. In 
short, that species of stanza is the most difficult 
that I have ever tried. 

I am interrupted. Yours, kc, 

Mr. Thomson has decided on AVer made sic anither 



( 296 ) 

No. 160. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

4^/i December J 1792. 

i HE foregoing* I submit, my dear Sir, 
to your better judgment. Acquit them, or con- 
demn them as seemeth good in your sight. Dun- 
can Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an 
air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is 
its ruling: feature. 



No. 161. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

January y 1795. 

31 ANY returns of the season to you, 
my dear Sir. How comes on your publication? 
will these two foregoing be of any service to you ?f 
I should like to know what songs you print to 
each tune besides the verses to which it is set. In 
short, I would wish to give you my opinion on 
all the poetry you publish. You know it is my 
trade, and a man in the way of his trade may 

* ' Auld Rob Morris and Duncan Gray.' — See Poems, p. 388 
and 391. 

+ ' O Poortith Cauld, &c. and Galla Water.' — See Poems, p. 
1S2 and 394. 



( 297 ) 

suggest useful hints, that escape men of much 
superior parts and endowments in other things. 

If you meet with my dear and much vahied C. 
greet him, in my name, with the compliments of 
the season. Yours, kc. 



No. 162. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, January 9.0th 1793. 

jL OU make me happy, my dear Sir, and 
thousands will be happy to see the charming songs 
you have sent me. Many merry returns of the 
season to you, and may you long continue, among 
the sons and daughters of Caledonia, to delight 
them and to honour yourself 

The four last songs wdth which you favoured 
me, viz. Auld Rob Moi^ris, Duncan Gray, Galla 
Water, and Cauld Kail, are admirable. Duncan 
is indeed a lad of grace, and his humour will en- 
dear him to every body. 

The distracted lover in Auld Boh, and the happy 
shepherdess in Galla Water, exhibit an excellent 
contrast; they speak from genuine feeling, and 
powerfully touch the heart. 

The number of songs which I had originally in 
view, was limited ; but I now resolve to include 
every Scotch air and song worth singing, leaving 
none behind but mere gleanings, to which the 
publishers of omnegatherum are welcome. I 

2 Q 



( 298 ) 

would rather be the editor of a collection from 
which nothing could be taken away, than of one 
to which nothing could be added. We intend 
presenting the subscribers with two beautiful 
stroke engravings ; the one characteristic of the 
plaintive, and the other of the lively songs ; and 
I have Dr. Beattie's promise of an essay upon the 
subject of our national music, if his health will 
permit him to write it. As a number of our 
songs have doubtless been called forth by particu- 
lar events, or by the charms of peerless damsels, 
there must be many curious anecdotes relating to 
them. 

The late Mr. Tytler of Woodhouselee, I be- 
lieve, knew more of this than any body, for he 
joined to the pursuits of an antiquary a taste for 
poetry, besides being a man of the world, and 
possessing an enthusiasm for music beyond most 
of his contemporaries. He was quite pleased with 
this plan of mine, for I may say it has been solely 
managed by me, and we had several long conver- 
sations about it when it was in embryo. If I 
could simply mention the name of the heroine of 
each song, and the incident which occasioned the 
verses, it would be gratifying. Pray, will you 
send me any information of this sort, as well with 
regard to your own songs, as the old ones ? 

To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or 
pastoral kind, will be joined the delicate accom- 
paniments, &c. of Pleyel. To those of the comiq 
and humorous class, I think accompaniments 
scarcely necessary ; they are chiefly fitted for the 
conviviality of the festive board, and a tuneful 
voice, with a proper delivery of the words, ren- 



< 299 ) 

ders them perfect. Nevertheless, to these I pro- 
pose adding bass accompaniments, because then 
they are fitted either for singing, or for instru- 
mental performance, when there happens to be 
no singer. I mean to employ our right trusty 
friend Mr. Clarke, to set the bass to these, which 
Tie assures me he will do con aviore, and with 
much greater attention than he ever bestowed on 
any thing of the kind. But for this last class of 
airs I will not attempt to find more than one set 
of verses. 

That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started 
I know not how many difficulties about writing 
for the airs I sent to him, because of the peculiar- 
ity of their measure, and the trammels they im- 
pose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for your 
perusal the only one I have yet got from him, 
being for the fine air * Lord Gregory.' The Scots 
verses printed with that air, are taken from the 
middle of an old ballad, called The Loss of Loch- 
royan, which I do not admire. I have set down 
the air therefore as a creditor of yours. Many of 
the Jacobite songs are replete with wit and hu- 
mour, might not the best of these be included in 
our volume of comic songs. 



POSTSCRIPT, 
FROM THE HON. A. ERSKINE. 

Mr. THOMSON has been so obligincr 
as to give me a perusal of your songs. Highland 
Mary is most enchantingly pathetic, and Duncan 



( 300 ) 

Gray possesses native genuine humour; *spak o* 
lowpin o'er a iinn,' is a line of itself that should 
make 3^ou immortal. I sometimes hear of you 
from our mutual friend C. who is a most excellent 
fellow, and possesses, above all men I know, the 
charm of a most obliging disposition. You kindly 
promised me, about a year ago, a collection of 
your unpublished productions, religious and amor- 
ous ; 1 know from experience how irksome it is to 
copy. If you will get any trusty person in Dum- 
fries to write them over fair, 1 v/ill give Peter 
Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble, and 
I certainly shall not betray your confidence. — I 
am your hearty admirer, 

ANDREW ERSKINE. 



No. 163. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

9.6th January, 119", 

I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of 
your plans ; Dr. Beattie's essay v^^ill of itself be a 
treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up an ap- 
pendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock 
of anecdotes, &c. of our Scots songs. All the late 
Mr. Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken down 
in the course of my acquaintance with him from 
his own mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that, 
in the course of my several peregrinations through 
Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual 



( 301 ) 

spot from which every song took its rise ; Locha- 
btr, and the Braes of Ballenden, excepted. So 
far as the locality, either from the title of the air, 
or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I 
have paid my devotions at the particular shrine of 
every Scots muse. 

I do not doubt but you might make a very 
valuable collection of Jacobite songs ; but would 
it give no oiFence? In the mean time, do not 
you think that some of them, particularly The 
sow's tail to Geordie, as an air, with other words, 
might be well worth a place in your collection of 
lively songs? 

If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it 
would be proper to have one set of Scots words to 
every air, and that the set of words to which the 
notes ought to be set. There is a na'wele, a pas- 
toral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots 
words and phraseology, which is more in unison 
(at least to my taste, and I will add to every 
genuine Caledonian taste) with the simple pathos, 
or rustic sprightliness of our native music, than 
any English verses whatever. 

The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition 
to your work. His Gi^egory is beautiful. I have 
tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots, on the 
same subject, which are at your service. Not that 
I intend to enter the lists with Peter : that would 
be presumption indeed. My song, though much 
inferior in poetic merit, has I think more of the 
ballad simplicity in it. 

' O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour.' — Sec Poems , p. 397^ 



( 302 ) 

My most respectful compliments to the honour- 
able gentleman who favoured me with a postscript 
in your last. He shall hear from me and receive 
his MSS. soon. 



No. 164. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

20th March, 1793. 

My dear Sir, 

X HE song prefixed* is one of my juvenile 
works. I leave it in your hands. 1 do not think 
it very remarkable, either for its merits or de- 
merits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my 
stinted powers) to be always original, entertain- 
ing, and witty. 

What is become of the list, &c. of your songs ? 
I shall be out of all temper with you by-and-by. 
I have always looked upon myself as the prince of 
indolent correspondents, and valued myself ac- 
cordingly ; and I will not, cannot bear rivalship 
from you, nor any body else. 

* ' Mary Morrison/ — See Poems, p. S^S. 



{ 303 ) 

No. 165. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 2d Aprils 179S. 

i WILL not recognize the title you give 
yourself, ' the prince of indolent correspondents ;' 
but if the adjective were taken away, I think the 
title would then fit you exactly. It gives me plea- 
sure to find you can furnish anecdotes with respect 
to most of the songs: these will be a literary 
curiosity. 

I now send you my list of the songs, which I 
believe will be found nearly complete. I have 
put down the first lines of all the English songs 
which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch 
verses. If any others occur to you, better adapted 
to the character of the airs, pray mention them, 
when you favour me with your strictures upon 
every thing else relating to the work. 

Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, 
with his symphonies and accompaniments added 
to them. I wish you were here, that I might 
serve up some of them to you with your own 
verses, by way of desert after dinner. There is 
so much delightful fancy in the symphonies, and 
such a delicate simplicity in the accompaniments : 
they are indeed beyond all praise. 

I am very much pleased with the several last 
productions of your muse : your Lord Gregory, 
in my estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, 



( 304 ) 

beautiful as his is ! Your Here awa Willie must 
undergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr. 
Erskine and I have been conning it over; he will 
suggest what is necessary to make them a fit 
match. 

The gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine 
taste you are no stranger to, is so well pleased 
both with the musical and poetical part of our 
work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and 
has already written four songs for it, which, by 
his own desire, I send for your perusal. 



No. 166. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

7th April, 1793. 

X HANK you, my dear Sir, for your 
packet. You cannot imagine how much this 
business of composing for your publication has 
added to my enjoyments. What with my early 
attachment to ballads, your books, &c., ballad- 
making is now as completely my hobby-horse, as 
ever fortification was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en 
canter it way till I come to the limit of my race 
(God grant that I may take the right side of the 
winning post !) and then cheerfully looking back 
on the honest folks with whom I have been happy, 
I shall say or sing, ' Sae merry as we a' hae been !' 
and raising my last looks to the whole human 



( 305 ) 

rat?e, the last words of the voice of Coilia* shall 
be, * Good night and joy be wi' you a' !' So much 
for my last words : now for a few present remarks, 
as they have occurred at random on looking over 
your list. 

The first lines of The last time I came o'er the 
moor, and several other lines in it, are beautiful ; 
but in my opinion — pardon me, revered shade of 
Ramsay ! the song is unworthy of the divine air. 
I shall try to 7?iake or inend. For ever, Fortune, 
wilt thou prove, is a charming song ! but Logan 
burn and Logan braes, are sweetly susceptible of 
rural imagery : I'll try that likewise, and if I suc- 
ceed, the other song may class among the English 
ones. I remember the two last lines of a verse, 
in some of the old songs of Logan Water (for I 
know a good many different ones) which I think 
pretty: 

^ Now my dear lad maun face his faes. 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.' 

My Patie is a lover gay, is unequal. 'His 
mind is never muddy,' is a muddy expression 
indeed, 

* Then Fll resign and marry Pate, 
And syne my cokernony/ — 

This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your 
book. My song, Bigs of Barley, to the same 
tune, does not altogether please me ; but if I can 
mend it, and thresh a few loose sentiments out of 

* Burns here calls himself the Voice of Coila, in imitation of 
Ossian, who denominates himself the Voice of Concu Sae merry 
as we a' hue been : and Good night and joy be ivi' you a', are the 
names of two Scottish tunes. 

2 R 



( 306 ) 

it, I will submit it to your consideration. IVie 
Lass o' Patie's Mill is one of Ramsay's best songs ; 
but there is one loose sentiment in it, which my 
much-valued friend Mr. Erskine will take into his 
critical consideration — In Sir J. Sinclair's Statisti- 
cal volumes, are tv*^o claims, one, I think, from 
Aberdeenshire, and the other from Ayrshire, for 
the honour of this song. The following anecdote, 
which I had from the present Sir William Cun- 
ningham, of Robertland, who had it of the late 
John, Earl of Loudon, I can, on such authorities 
believe. 

Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon-castle 
with the then earl, father to earl John ; and one 
forenoon, riding or walking out together, his 
lordship and Allan passed a sweet romantic spot 
on Irvine water, still called ' Patie's Mill,' where 
a bonnie lass was * tedding hay, bareheaded on 
the green.' My lord observed to Allan, that it 
would be a fine theme for a song. Ramsay took 
the hint, and lingering behind, he composed the 
first sketch of it, which he produced at dinner. 

One (lay I heard Mary say, is a fine song; but 
for consistency's sake alter the name * Adonis.' 
Were there ever such banns published, as a pur- 
pose of marriage between Adonis and Mary ? I 
agree with you that my song, There's nought hut 
care on every hand, is much superior to Poortith 
cauld. The original song. The Mill inill O, 
though excellent, is, on account of delicacy, in- 
admissible ; still I like the title, and think a Scot- 
tish song would suit the notes best; and let your 
chosen song, which is very pretty, follow, as an 
English set. The Baiiks of the Dee, is you know. 



( 307 ) 

literally Langolee, to slow* time. The song is well 
enough, but has some false imagery in it : for 
instance, 

' And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree.' 

In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low 
bush, but never from a tree; and in the second 
place, there never was a nightingale seen, or heard, 
on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any 
other river in Scotland. Exotic rural imagery is 
always comparatively flat. If I could hit on ano- 
ther stanza, equal to The small birds rejoice, &^c. 
I do myself honestly avow, that I think it a supe- 
rior song. John Anderson my jo — the song to 
this tune in Johnson's IMuseum, is my composi- 
tion, and 1 think it not my worst : if it suit you, 
take it, and welcome. Your collection of senti- 
mental and pathetic songs, is, in my opinion, very 
complete; but not so your comic ones. Where 
are Tullochgorum, Lumps & puddin, Tibbie Fow-- 
ler, and several others, which, in my humble judg- 
ment, are well worthy of preservation ? There is 
also one sentimental song of mine in the Museum, 
which never was known out of the immediate 
neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a 
country girl's singing. It is called Craigie burn 
Wood ; and, in the opinion of Mr. Clarke, is one 
of the sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an 
enthusiast about it : and I would take his taste in 
Scottish music against the taste of most connois- 
seurs. 

You are quite right in inserting the last five in 
your list, though they are certainly Irish. Shep- 



( 308 ) 

herds, I have lost my love ! is to me a heavenly 
air — what would you think of a set of Scottish 
verses to it ? I have made one to it a good while 
ago, which I think * ^ ^- * ^ ******* but 
in its original state is not quite a lady's song. I 
enclose an altered, not amended copy for you, if 
you choose to set the tune to it, and let the Irish 
verses follow. 

Mr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his Lone 
Vale is divine. 

Yours, &c. 

Let me know just how you like these randonj 
hints. 



No. 167. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, April, 1793. 

I REJOICE to find, my dear Sir, that 
ballad making continues to be your hobby-horse. 
Great pity 'twould be were it otherwise. I hope 
you will amble it away for many a year, and 
* witch the world with your horsemanship.' 

I know there are a good many lively songs of 
merit that I have not put down in the list sent 
you ; but I have them all in my eye. My Patie 
is a lover gay, though a little unequal, is a natural 
.^nd very pleasing song, and I humbly think we 



( 309 ) 

ought not to displace, or alter it, except the last 
stanza* 



No.. 168. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

April, 1793. 

X HAV^E yours, my dear Sir, this mo- 
ment. I shall answer it and your former letter, 
in my desultory way of saying whatever comes 
uppermost. 

The business of many of our tunes wanting, at 
the beginning, what fiddlers call a starting-note, 
is often a rub to us poor rhymers. 

* There's bi*aw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro* the blooming heather,' 

you may alter to 

' Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes. 
Ye wander, &c. 

My song, He7^e awa, there awa, as amended 
by Mr. Erskine, I entirely approve of, and return 
you.f 

* The original letter from Mr. Thomson contains many ob- 
servations on the Scottish songs, and on the manner of adapting 
the words to the music, which, at his desire, are suppressed. 
The subsequent letter of Mr. Burns refers to several of these 
observations. 

t The reader has already seen that Burns did not finally 
adopt all of Mr. Erskine's alterations. 



( 310 ) 

Give me leave to criticise your taste m the only 
thing in which it is in my opinion reprehensible. 
You know I ought to know something of my own 
trade. Of pathos, sentiment, and point, you are 
a complete judge; but there is a quality more 
necessary than either, in a song, and which is the 
very essence of a ballad, I mean simplicity : now, 
if I mistake not, this last feature you are a little 
apt to sacrifice to the foregoing. 

Ramsay, as every other poet, has not been al- 
ways equally happy in his pieces; still I cannot 
approve of taking such liberties with an author as 
Mr. W. proposes doing with The last time I came 
o'er the moor. Let a poet, if he chooses, take up 
the idea of another, and work it into a piece of his 
own ; but to mangle the works of the poor bard, 
whose tuneful tongue is now mute foi;ever, in the 
dark and narrow house; by heaven 'twould be 
sacrilege ! I grant that Mr. W.'s version is an im- 
provement ; but I know Mr. W. well, and esteem 
him much ; let him mend the song, as a High- 
lander mended his gun : — he gave it a new stock, 
a new lock, and a new barrel. 

I do not by this, object to leaving out improper 
stanzas, where that can be done without spoiling 
the whole. One stanza in The Lass o' Patie's 
Mill must be left out : the song wdll be nothing 
worse for it. I am not sure if we can take the 
same liberty with Corn 7igs a?'e honnie. Perhaps 
it might want the last stanza, and be the better 
for it. Cauld kail in Aberdeen you must leave 
with me yet a w^hile. I have vowed to have a 
song to that air, on the lady whom I attempted 
to celebrate in the verses, Poortith cauld and rest- 



( 311 ) 

less love. At any rate my other song, Green 
grow the rashes, will never suit. That song is 
current in Scotland under the old title, and to 
the merry old tune of that name, which of course 
would mar the progress of your song to celebrity. 
Your book will be the standard of Scots songs for 
the future : let this idea ever keep your judgment 
on the alarm. 

I send a song, on a celebrated toast in this coun- 
try, to suit Bonnie Dundee. I send you also a 
ballad to the Mill mill O. 

The last time I came o'er the moor, I would fain 
attempt to make a Scots song for, and let Ram- 
say's be the English set. You shall hear from me 
soon. When you go to London on this business, 
can you come by Dumfries ? I have still several 
MSS Scots airs by me which I have pickt up, 
mostly from the singing of country lasses. They 
please me vastly; but your learned lugs would 
perhaps be displeased with the very feature for 
which I like them. I call them simple; you 
would pronounce them silly. Do you know a 
fine air called Jackie Hume's Lament ? I have a 
song of considerable merit to that air. I'll enclose 
you both the song and tune, as 1 had them ready 
to send to Johnson's Museum.^" I send you like- 
wise, to me, a beautiful little air, which I had 
taken down from viva voce.f 

Adieu ! 

* The song here mentioned^ is ' O ken ye what Meg o' the 
Mill has gotten.' — See Poems , p. 395. 

t The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the 
ballad of ' Bonnie Jean.' — See Poems, p. 402. 



( S12 ) 

No. 169. 
MR. BXJIINS TO MR. THOMSON. 

April, 1793. 

My dear. Sir, 

X HAD scarcely put my last letter into 
the post office, when I took up the subject of The 
last time I came o'er^ the moor, and, ere I slept 
drew the outlines of the foregoing. How far I 
have succeeded, I leave on this, as on every other 
occasion, to you to decide. I own my vanity is 
flattered, when you give my songs a place in your 
elegant and superb work ; but to be of service to 
the work is my first wish. As I have often told 
you, I do not in a single instance wish you, out 
of compliment to me, to insert any thing of mine. 
One hint let me give you — whatever Mr. Pleyel 
does, let him not alter one iota of the original 
Scottish airs: I mean in the song department; 
but let our national music preserve its native fea- 
tures. They are, I own, frequently wild and 
irreducible to the more modern rules ; but on that 
very eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great part 
of their effect. 



( 313 ) 



No. 170. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, mh April, 1793. 

I HEARTILY thank you, my dear Sir, 
for your last two letters, and the songs which ac- 
companied them. I am always both instructed 
and entertained by your observations; and the 
frankness with which' you speak out your mind, 
is to me highly agreeable. It is very possible I 
may not have the true idea of simplicity in com- 
position. I confess there are several songs, of 
Allan Ramsay's for example, that I think silly 
enough, which another person, more conversant 
than I have been with country people, w^ould 
perhaps call simple and natural. But the lowest 
scenes of simple nature will not please generally, 
if copied precisely as the}?^ are. The poet, like the 
painter, must select what will form an agreeable 
as well as a natural picture. On this subject it 
were easy to enlarge ; but at present suffice it to 
say, that I consider simphcity, rightly under- 
stood, as a most essential quality in composition, 
and the ground- work of beauty in all the arts. I 
will gladly appropriate your most interesting new 
ballad When wild war's deadly blast, &^c. to the 
3Iill, mill O, as well as the two other songs ta 
their respective airs; but the third and fourth 
lines of the first verse must undergo some little 
alteration in order to suit the music. Pleyel does 
not alter a single note of the songs. That would 
14 2 S 



( 314 ) 

be absurd indeed ! With the airs which he intro- 
duces into the sonatas, I allow him to take such 
liberties as he pleases ; but that has nothing to da 
with the songs. 



P. S. I wish you would do as you proposed 
with your Rigs of Barley. If the loose senti- 
ments are threshed out of it, I will find an air for 
it ; but as to this there is no hurry. 



No. 171. 
MR. BURNS TO JMR. THOMSON 

June, 1793. 

When I tell you, my dear Sir, that a 
friend of mine, in whom I am much interested^ 
has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you 
will easily allow that it might unhinge me for 
doing any good among ballads. My own loss, as 
to pecuniary matters, is trifling; but the total 
ruin of a much-loved friend, is a loss indeed. 
Pardon my seeming inattention to your last com- 
mands. 

I cannot alter the disputed lines in the Mill, 
mill O.* What you think a defect I esteem as a 

* The lines were the third and fourth. — See Poems, p. 385. 
' Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless. 
And mony a widow mourning.* 
As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first num- 
ber of Mr. Thomson's Musical Work was in the press, this gen- 



( 315 ) 

positive beauty ; so you see how doctors differ. 1 
shall now with as much alacrity as I can muster, 
go on with your commands. 

You know Frazer, the hautboy-player in Edin- 
burgh — he is here, instructing a band of music 
for a fencible corps quartered in this country. 
Among many of his airs that please me, there is 
one, well known as a reel, by the name of The 
Quaker's Wife; and which I remember a grand 
aunt of mine used to sing by the name of Lig- 
geram Cosh, my honnie zvee lass. Mr. Frazer 
plays it slow, and with an expression that quite 
charms me. I became such an enthusiast about 
it, that I made a song for it, which I here sub- 
join ; and inclose Frazer's set of the tune. If they 
hit your fancy, they are at your service ; if not, 
return me the tune, and I will put it in Johnson's 
Museum. I think the song is not in my worst 
manner, 

' Blythe hae I been on yOn hill.' — See Poems, p. 400. 

I should wish to hear how this pleases you. 

tleman ventured, by Mr. Erskine's advice, to substitute for 
them in that publication, 

* And eyes again with pleasure beam'd 
That had been blear 'd with mourning.' 
Though better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to 
the original. This is the only alteration adoptetl by Mr. Thom- 
son, which Burns did not approve, or at least assent to. 



( 316 ) 

No. 172. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

25M June, 1793. 

XXAVE you ever, my dear Sir, felt your 
bosom ready to burst ^vith indignation on reading 
of those mighty villains who divide kingdom 
against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay na- 
tions waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or 
often from still more ignoble passions ? In a mood 
of this kind to-day, I recollected the air of Logan 
Water ; and it occurred to me that its querulous 
melody probably had its origin from the plaintive 
indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired 
at the tyrannic strides of some piibhc destroyer; 
and overwhelmed with private distress, the con- 
sequence of a country's ruin. If I have done any 
thing at all like justice to my feelings, the follow- 
ing song, composed in three-quarters of an hour's 
meditation in my elbow-chair, ought to have some 
merit. 

' O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide.' — See Voems, p. S99- 

Do you know the following beautiful little 
fragment in Witherspoon's Collection of Scots 



Songs ? 



Air. — ' HuGHiE Graham.' 

' O gin ray love v/ere yon red rose. 
That grows upon the castle wa' ; 

And T my^el a drap o' dew. 
Into her l?onnie breast to fa' ! 



( 317 ) 

Oh, there beyond expression blest, 

I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 

Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light/ 

This thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and 
quite so far as I know, original. It is too short 
for a song, else I would forswear you altogether, 
vinless you gave it a place. I have often tried to 
eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After balancing 
myself for a musing five minutes, on the hind-legs 
of my elbow-chair, I produced the following. 

The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I 
frankly confess ; but if worthy of insertion at all, 
they might be first in place ; as every poet, who 
knows any thing of his trade, will husband his 
best thoughts for a concluding stroke. 

O, were my love yon likch fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
And I, a bird to shelter there. 

When wearied on my little ^ving. 

How I wad mourn, when it was toni 

By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
But T wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 



No. 173. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Monday/, \st July, 1793. 

M. AM extremely sorry, my good Sir, 
that any thing should happen to unhinge you. 



( 318 ) 

The times are terribly out of tune ; and when 
harmony will be restored, Heaven knows. 

The first book of songs, just published, will be 
dispatched to you along with tliis. Let me be fa- 
voured with your opinion of it frankly and freely. 

I shall certainly give a place to the song you 
have written for the Quaker's Wife; it is quite 
enchanting. Pray will you return the list of songs 
with such airs added to it as you think ought to 
be included. The business now rests entirely on 
myself, the gentlemen who originally agreed to 
join the speculation having requested to be off. 
No matter, a loser I cannot be. The superior ex- 
cellence of the work will create a general demand 
for it as soon as it is properly known. And were 
the sale even slower than it promises to be, I 
should be somewhat compensated for my labour, 
by the pleasure I shall receive from the music. I 
cannot express how much I am obliged to you for 
the exquisite new songs you are sending me ; but 
thanks, my friend, are a poor return for what you 
have done : as I shall be benefited by the publica- 
tion, you must suffer me to inclose a small mark 
of my gratitude,* and to repeat it afterwards when 
I find it convenient. Do not return it, for by Hea- 
ven, if you do, our correspondence is at an end : 
and though this would be no loss to you, it would 
mar the publication, which under your auspices 
cannot fail to be respectable and interesting. 



* 5L 



( 319 ) 

Wednesday) Morning. 

I thank you for your delicate additional verses 
to the old fragment, and for your excellent song 
to Logan Water; Thomson's truly elegant one 
will follow, for the English singer. Your apos- 
trophe to statesmen is admirable ; but I am not 
sure if it is quite suitable to the supposed gentle 
character of the fair mourner who speaks it. 



No. 174. 
MR. BURNS TO ]\IR. THOMSON. 

July 2d, 1793. 

My dear Sir, 

X HAVE just finished the following bal- 
lad, and, as I do think it in my best style, I send 
it you. jNIr. Clarke, who wrote down the air 
from Mrs. Burns' ivood-nofe wild, is very fond of 
it, and has given it a celebrity, by teaching it to 
some young ladies of the first fashion here. If 
you do not like the air enough to give it a place 
in your collection, please return it. The song 
you may keep, as I remember it. 

* There was a lass and she rvas fair.' — See Poems, p. 402. 

1 have some thoughts of inserting in your in- 
dex, or in my notes, the names of the fair ones, 
the themes of my songs. 1 do not mean the name 
at full; but dashes or asterisms, so as ingenuity 
may find them out. 



( 320 ) 

The heroine of the foregoing is Miss M. daugh- 
ter to JNIr. M. of D. one of your subscribers. I 
have not painted her in the rank which she holds 
in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager. 



No. 175. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

July, 1793. 

X ASSURE you, my dear Sir, that you 
truly hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It de- 
grades me in my own eyes. However, to return 
it would savour of affectation ; but as to any more 
traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, I swear 
by that Honour which crown the upright statue 
of Robert Burns's Integrity — on the least 
motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the by-past 
transaction, and from tiiat moment commence en- 
tire stranger to you ! Burns's character for gene- 
rosity of sentiment and independence of mind, 
will, I trust long outlive any of his wants which 
the cold unfeeling ore can supply : at least, I will 
take care that such a character he shall deserve. 

Thank you for my copy of your publication. 
Never did my eyes behold, in any musical work, 
such elegance and correctness. Your preface, too, 
is admirably written ; only your partiality to me 
has made you say too much : however, it will 
bind me down to double every effort in the future 
progress of tlie work. The following are a few 



( S21 ) 

remarks on the songs in the list you sent me. 1 
never copy what I write to you, so I may be often 
tautological, or perhaps contradictory. 

The Flowers of the Forrest is charming as a 
poem, and should be, and must be, set to the 
notes; but, though out of your rule, the three 
stanzas beginning, 

* I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling/ 

are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalize 
the author of them, who is an old lady of my ac- 
quaintance, and at this moment living in Edin- 
burgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn ; 1 forget of what 
place : but from Roxburghshire. What a charm- 
ing apostrophe is 

* O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting. 
Why, why torment us — poor sons of a day !" 

The old ballad, / wish I were where Helen lies, 
is silly to contemptibility.* My alteration of it in 
Johnson's is not much better. Mr. Pinkerton, in 
his, what he calls, ancient ballads (many of them 
notorious, though beautiful enough, forgeries) has 
the best set. It is full of his own interpolations, 
but no matter. 

In my next I will suggest to your consideration 
a few songs which may have escaped your hurried 
notice. In the mean time, allow me to congra- 
tulate you now, as a brother of the quill. You 
have comjiiitted your character and fame; which 

* There is a copy of this ballad given in the account of the 
Parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleeming (which contains the tomb of 
fair Helen Irvine), in the Statistics of Sir John Sinclair, voL 
xiii. p. 275, to which this character is certainly not applicable, 

2 T 



^ 



( 322 ) 

will now be tried for ages to come, by the illus- 
trious jury of the Sons and Daughters of Taste 
— all whom poesy can please, or music charm. 

Being a bard of nature, I have some pretensions 
to second sight ; and I am warranted by the spirit 
to foretel and affirm, that your great-grand-child 
will hold up your volumes, and say, with honest 
pride, ' This so much admired selection was the 
work of my ancestor.' 



No. 176. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh^ Ut August, 1193, 

Dear Sir, 

J. HAD the pleasure of receiving your 
last two letters, and am happy to find you are 
quite pleased with the appearance of the first 
book. When you come to hear the songs sung 
and accompanied, you will be charmed with theme 
The bonnie brucket Lassie, certainly deserves 
better verses, and I hope you will match her. 
Cauld Kail in Aberdeen — Let me in this ae night, 
and several of the livelier airs, wait the muse's 
leisure : these are peculiarly worthy of her choice 
gifts : besides, you'll notice, that in airs of this 
sort, the singer can always do greater justice to 
the poet, than in the slower airs of The Bush 
aboon Traquai?^ Lord Gregory, and the like; 
for in the manner the latter are frequently sung, 
you must be contented with the sound, without 



( S23 ) 

the sense. Indeed both the airs and words are 
disguised by the very slow, languid, psalra-sing- 
ing style in which they are too often performed, 
they lose animation and expression altogether; 
and instead of speaking to the mind, or touching 
the heart, they cloy upon the ear, and set us a 
yawning ! 

Your ballad. There was a lass atid she was fair, 
is simple and beautiful, and shall undoubtedly 
^race my collection. 



No. 177. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

August J 1793. 

My dear Thomson, 

i HOLD the pen for our friend Clarke, 
who at present is studying the music of the spheres 
at my elbow. The Georgium Sidus he thinks is 
rather out of tune ; so until he rectify that matter, 
lie cannot stoop to terrestrial affairs. 

He sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, and 
if more are wanted, he says you shall have them. 



Confound your long stairs ! 

S. CLARKE. 



( S24> ) 

No. 178. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 

jL our objection, my dear Sir, to the 
passages in nriy song of Logan Water, is right in 
one instance, but it is difficult to mend it : if I 
can, I will. The other passage you object to, 
does not appear in the same light to me. 

I have tried my hand on Robin Adair, and you 
will probably think, with little success ; but it is 
such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, 
that I despair of doing any thing better to it. 

' While larks with little wing.' — See Poems, p. 404. 

So much for namby-pamby. I may, after all, 
try my hand on it in Scots verse. There I always 
find myself most at home. 

I have just put the last hand to the song I 
meant for Cauld Kail in Aberdeen, If it suits 
you to insert it, I shall be pleased, as the heroine 
is a favourite of mine: if not, I shall also be 
pleased ; because I wish, and will be glad, to see 
you act decidedly on the business.* 'Tis a tribute 
as a man of taste, and as an editor, which you 
owe yourself. 

* The song herewith sent begins, *0 poortith cauld/ &c. 
See Poems, p. 382. 



( 325 ) 

No. 179. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

August, 1793. 

My good Sir, 

I CONSIDER it one of the most agree- 
able circumstances attending this publication of 
mine, that it has procured me so many of your 
much valued epistles. Pray make my acknow- 
ledgments to St. Stephen for the tunes : tell him 
I admit the justness of his complaint on my stair- 
case, conveyed in his laconic postscript to your 
jeu d* esprit, which I perused more than once, 
without discovering exactly whether your discus- 
sion was music, astronomy, or politics : though a 
sagacious friend, acquainted with the convivial 
habits of the poet and the musician, offered me a 
bet of two to one, you were just drowning care 
together ; that an empty bowl was the only thing 
that would deeply affect you, and the only mat- 
ter you could then study how to remedy ! 

I shall be glad to see you give Robin Adair a 
Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing him with an 
English suit for a change, and you are well match- 
ed together. Robin's air is excellent, though he 
certainly has an out-of-the-way measure as ever 
poor Parnassian wight was plagued with. I wish 
you would invoke the muse for a single elegant 
stanza to be substituted for the concludinor ob- 
jectionable verses of Doxvn the Burn Davie ^ so 



( 326 ) 

that this most exquisite song may no longer be 
excluded from good company. 

Mr. Allan has made an inimitable drawing from 
your John Anderson my Jo, which I am to have 
engraved as a frontispiece to the humorous class 
of songs; you will be quite charmed with it I 
promise you. The old couple are seated by the 
fireside. Mrs. Anderson, in great good humour, 
is clapping John's shoulders, while he smiles, and 
looks at her wdth such glee, as to shew that he 
fully recollects the pleasant days and nights when 
they were first acquent. The drawing would do 
honour to the pencil of Teniers. 



No. 180. 
MR. BURNS TO IMR. THOMSON. 

August, 1795. 

J. HAT crinkum-crankum tune, Robin 
Adair, has run so in my head, and I succeeded so 
ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured in 
this morning's walk, one essay more. You, my 
dear Sir, will remember an unfortunate part of 
our worthy friend C.'s story, which happened 
about three years ago. That struck my fancy, 
and I endeavoured to do the idea justice as fol- 
lows : 

' Had I a cave on some wild distant shore.' 

See Poems, p. 405. 



( 327 ) 

By the way, I have met with a musical High- 
lander in Breadalbane's Fencibles, which are quar- 
tered here, who assures me that he well remembers 
his mother's singing Gaelic songs to both Robin 
Adair and Grcunachree. They certainly have 
more of the Scotch than Irish taste in them. 

This man comes from the vicinity of Inverness : 
so it could not be any intercourse with Ireland 
that could bring them : — except, what I shrewdly 
suspect to be the case, the wandering minstrels, 
harpers, and pipers, used to go frequently errant 
through the wilds both of Scotland and Ireland, 
and so some favourite airs might be common to 
both. A case in point — They have lately in Ire- 
land, published an Irish air, as they say, ca J 
Caun du delish. The fact is, in a publication of 
Corn's, a great while ago, you will find .he same 
air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set 
to it. Its name there, I think, is Oran Gaoil, 
and a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the 
Rev. Gaelic Parson, about these matters. 



No. 181. 
JVm. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 



My dear Sir, 



Let me in this ae night, I will recon- 
sider. I am glad that you are pleased with my 
song. Had I a cave, SsC. as I Jiked it myself 



( 328 ) 

I walked out yesterday evening with a volume 
of the Museum in my hand ; when, turning up 
Allan Water, ' What numbers shall the muse re- 
peat,' &c. as the words appeared to me rather un- 
worthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is 
on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of 
an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure. 
I may be wrong ; but I think it not in my worst 
style. You must know, that in Ramsay's Tea- 
table, where the modern song first appeared, the 
ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is Allan 
Water, or My love Annie's very bonnie. This 
last has certainly been a line of the original song ; 
so I took up the idea, and as you will see, have 
introduced the line in its place, which I presume 
it formerly occupied ; though I likewise give you 
a chusing line, if it should not hit the cut of your 
fancy. 

' By Allan-stream I chanc'd to rove/ — See Poems, p» 406. 

Bravo ! say I : it is a good song. Should you 
think so too (not else), you can set the music to 
it, and let the other follow as English verses. 

Autumn is my propitious season. I make more 
verses in it than all the year else. 

God bless you ' 



{ 329 ) 

No. 182. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOxMSON. 

August, 1793. 

Xs Whistle, and Vll come to you, my lad, 
one of your airs ? I admire it much ; and yester- 
day I set the following verses to it. Urbani, 
whom I have met wi^h liere, begged them of me, 
as he admires the air much ; but as I understand 
that he looks with rather an evil eye on your 
work, I did not choose to comply. However, if 
the song does not suit your taste, I may possibly 
send it him. The set of the air which I had in 
my eye is in Johnson's Museum. 

' O whistle, and I'll come to you my lad.' — See Poems, p. 408. 

Another favourite air of mine is, T'hc muckm o' 
Geordie's Byre ; when sung slow with expression, 
I have wished that it had had better poetry ; that 
I have endeavoured to supply as follows : 

^ Adown winding Nith I did wander.' — See Poems, p. 407. 

Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a cor- 
ner in your book, as she is a particular flame of 
his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to Bonnie Jean. 
They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from 
me the very first grist 1 get from my rhyming- 
mill. 

2 U 



i 330 ) 

Na. 183. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON". 

August, 179^'- 

X HAT tune, Cauld Kail, is such a fa- 
vourite of yours, that I once more roved out 
yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses ;^ when 
the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or 
rather my old inspiring, dearest nymph, Coila, 
whispered me the following. I have two reasons 
for thinking that it was my early, sweet, simple 
inspirer that was by my elbow, ' smooth gliding 
without step,' and pouring the song on my glow- 
ing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's 
native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen 
to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspir- 
ation from her: so I more than suspect that she 
has followed me hither, or at least makes me occa- 
sional visits : secondly, the last stanza of this song 
I send you, is the very words that Coila taught 
me many years ago, and which I set to an old 
Scots reel in Johnson's Museum. 

' Come, let me take thee to my breast/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 409. 

If you think the above will suit your idea of 
your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. The 
last time I came o'er the moor, I cannot meddle 
with, as to mending it ; and the musical world 

* Gloamin— ^twilight, probably^ from glooming. 



( 331 ) 

liave been so long accustomed to Ramsay's words, 
that a different song, though positively superior, 
would not be so well received. I am not fond of 
chorusses to songs, so I have not made one for 
the foregoing. 



No. 184. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

August, 1793- 

DAINTY DAVIE. 

^Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers.' — See Poems, p. 410. 

!S0 much for Davie. The chorus, you 
know, is to the low part of the tune. See Clarke's 
set of it in the Museum. 

N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out 
the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is ***^ 
nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, 
is the way. 



No. 185. 
MR. THOMSON TO JNIR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, \st Sep. 1793- 

My dear Sir, 

I^INCE writing you last, I ha\#ftjceived 
half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted 



( 332 ) 

beyond expression. The humour and fancy of 
Whistle, and Fll come to you, my lad, will render 
it nearly as great a favourite as Duncan Gray, 
Covie, let me take thee to my breast — Adown wind- 
ing Nith, and By Allan stream, &c.' are full of 
imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs 
for which they are intended. Had I a cave on 
some wild d.istant shore, is a striking and affecting 
composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, 
read it with a swelling heart, I assure you. The 
union we are now forming, I think, can never be 
broken ; these songs of yours will descend with 
the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly 
cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility 
exist in our island. 

While the muse seems so propitious, I think it 
right to enclose a list of all the favours I have to 
ask of her, no fewer than twenty and three ! I 
have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many 
as it is probable he will attend to : most of the re- 
maining airs would puzzle the English poet not a 
little; they are of that peculiar measure and 
rhythm, that they must be familiar to him w^ho 
writes for them. 



No. 186. 
MR BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September, 179S. 

JL OU may readily trust, my dear Sir, 
that any exertion in my power is heartily at your 



( 333 ) 

service. But one thing I must hint to you ; the 
very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to 
your publication, so get a verse from him now and 
then ; though I have no objection, as well as I 
can, to bear the burden of the business. 

You know that my pretensions to musical taste 
are merely a few of nature's instincts, untaught 
and untutored by art. For this reason, many 
musical compositions, particularly where much of 
the merit lies in counterpoint, however they may 
transport and ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, 
affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as 
melodious din. On the other hand, by way of 
amends, I am delighted with many little melodies, 
which the learned musician despises as silly and 
insipid. I do not know whether the old air Hey 
tuttie taittie may rank among this number; but 
well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has 
often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tra- 
dition, which 1 have met with in many places of 
Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the 
battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my 
solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of en- 
thusiasm on the theme of Liberty and Independ- 
ence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, 
fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the 
gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic fol- 
lowers on that eventful morning.* 

* This noble strain was conceived by our poet during a storm 
among the wilds of Glen- Ken in Galloway. A more finished 
copy will be found in the Poems, see p. SQS. 



{ 334 ) 



ERUCE TO HIS TROOPS, 

ON THE EVE OF THE BATTLE OF 

BANNOCKBURN. 

TO ITS AIN TUNE. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power- 
Chains and slavery ! 

Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's kmg and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa'. 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains I 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins. 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low 1 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Let us do, or die ! 



( 335 ) 

So may God ever defend the cause of Truth 
and Liberty, as He did that day ! — Amen. 

P. S. 1 shewed the air to Urbani, who was 
highly pleased with it, and begged me to make 
soft verses for it ; but I had no idea of giving my- 
self any trouble on the subject, till the accidental 
recollection of that glorious struggle for freedom, 
associated with the glowing ideas of some other 
struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient, 
roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the 
tune, with his bass, you will find in the IMuseum ; 
though I am afraid that the air is not what will 
entitle it to a place in your elegant selection. 



No. 187. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Sept. 1793. 

M. DxlRE say, my dear Sir, that you 
will begin to think my correspondence is persecu- 
tion. No matter, 1 can't help it ; a ballad is my 
hobby-horse; which though otherwise a simple 
sort of harmless idiotical beast enough, has yet this 
blessed headstrong property, that when once it 
has fiiirly made off with a hapless wight, it gets 
so enamoured with the tinkle-gingie of its own 
bells; that it is sure to run poor pilgarlic, the 
bedlam-jockey, quite beyond any useful point or 
post in the common race of man. 



( 336 ) 

The following song I have composed for Oran- 
gaoil, the Highland air that you tell nne in your 
last, you have resolved to give a place to in your 
book. I have this moment finished the song, so 
you have it glowing from the mint. If it suit 
you, well ! — if not, 'tis also well ! 

^ 'Behold the hour, the boat arrive/ &c. — See Poems, j). 41 K 



No. 188. 

MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 5th Sep. 1793. 

1 BELIEVE it is generally allowed that 
the greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the 
greatest merit. While you are sending me verses 
that even Shakespeare might be proud to ow^n, 
you speak of them as if they were ordinary pro- 
ductions ! Your heroic ode is to me the noblest 
composition of the kind in the Scottish language. 
1 happened to dine yesterday with a party of your 
friends, to whom I read it. They were all charm- 
ed with it; intreated me to find out a suitable air 
for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune 
so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as Hey 
tuttie taittie. Assuredly your partiality for this 
tune must arise from the ideas associated in your 
mind by the tradition concerning it ; for I never 
heard any person, and I have conversed again and 
again with the greatest enthusiasts for Scottish 



i 



( 337 ) 

airs, I say, I never heard any one speak of it as 
worthy of notice. 

I have been running over the whole hundred 
airs, of which I lately sent you the list ; and I 
think Lewie Gordon is most happily adapted to 
your ode: at least with a very slight variation of 
the fourth line, which I shall presently submit to 
you. There is in Lewie Gordon more of the grand 
than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung 
with a degree of spirit, which your words would 
oblige the singer to give it. I would have no 
scruple about substituting your ode in the room 
of Lewie Gordon, which has neither the interest, 
the grandeur, nor the poetry that characterize 
your verses. Now the variation I have to suggest 
upon the last line of each verse, the only line too 
short for the air, is as follows : 

Verse 1st. Or to glorious victorie. 

2d. Chains — chains, and slaverie. 
5c?. Let him, let him tm-n and flie. 
^th. Let him, bravely follow me. 
5th. But they shall, they shall be free. 
6th. Let us, let us do, or die ! 

If you connect each line with its own verse, I 
do not think you will find that either the senti- 
ment or the expression loses any of its energy. 
The only line which I dislike in the whole of the 
song is, * Welcome to your gory bed.' Would 
not another word be preferable to ivelcome ? In 
your next I will expect to be informed whether 
you agree to what I have proposed. The little 
alterations I submit with the greatest deference. 

The beauty of the verses you have made for 
OraU'gaoil will ensure celebrity to the air. 
15 2 X ' 



( 338 ) 

No. 189. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

X HAVE received your list, my dear 
Sir, and here go my observations on it.* 

Down the hum Davie, I have this moment 
tried an alteration, leaving out the last half of the 
third stanza, and the first half of the last stanza, 
thus : 

As down the burn they took their way. 

And thro' the flowery dale ; 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 

And love was ay the tale. 

With ' Mary, when shall we return. 

Sic pleasure to renew ?' 
Quoth Mary, ' Love, I like the burn, 

And ay shall follow you.'t 

Thro' the wood laddie — I am decidedly of opi- 
nion, that both in this; and There'll never he 
peace till Jamie comes hame, the second or high 
part of the tune being a repetition of the first part 
an octave higher is only for instrumental music, 
and would be much better omitted in singing. 

CowdeU'knowes. Remember in your index that 
the song in pure English to this tune, beginning, 

* Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication. 

t This alteration Mr. Thomson has adopted instead of the 
last stanza of the original song, which is objectionable in point 
of delicacy. 



( 339 ) 

' When summer comes the swains on Tweed/' 
is the production of Crawford. Robert was his 
Christian name. 

Laddie lie near me, must Lie by me for some 
time. I do not know the air; and until I am 
complete master of a tune, in my own singing 
(such as it is), I can never compose for it. My 
way is : I consider the poetic sentiment corres- 
pondent to my idea of the musical expression; 
then choose my theme ; begin one stanza ; when 
that is composed, which is generally the most 
difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down 
now and then, look out for objects in nature 
around me that are in unison and harmony with 
the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my 
bosom ; humming every now and then the air, 
with the verses I have framed. When I feel my 
muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary 
fire-side of my study, and there commit my effu- 
sions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the hind 
legs of my elbow chair, by w^ay of calling forth 
my own critical strictures, as my pen goes on. 
Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my 
way. 

What cursed egotism ; 

Gill Morice, I am for leaving out. It is a 
plaguy length; the air itself is never sung; and 
its place can well be supplied by one or two songs 
for fine airs that are not in your list. For in- 
stance, Craigie-hurn Wood, and Roy's Wife, The 
first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty ; and 
the last has high merit, as well as great celebrity. 
I have the original words of a song for the last air, 
in the hand writing of the lady who composed it ; 



( 340 ) 

and they are superior to any edition of the song 
which the public has yet seen. 

Highland-laddie. The old set will please a 
mere Scotch ear best ; and the new, an Italianized 
one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls the 
old Highland-laddie, which pleases more than 
either of them. It is sometimes called Ginglan 
Johnnie; it being the air of an old humorous 
tawdry song of that name. You will find it in 
the Museum, 1 hae been at Crookieden, S^c, I 
would advise you in this musical quandary, to 
offer up your prayers to the muses for inspiring 
direction ; and in the mean time, waiting for this 
direction, bestow a libation to Bacchus ; and there 
is not a doubt but you will hit on a judicious 
choice. Probatum Est. 

Auld Sir Simon, 1 must beg you to leave out, 
and put in its place The Quaker's Wife. 

Blythe hae I been o'er the hill, is one of the 
finest songs ever I made in my life ; and besides, 
is composed on a young lady, positively the most 
beautiful, lovely woman in the world. As I pur- 
pose giving you the names and designations of all 
my heroines, to appear in some future edition of 
your work, perhaps half a century hence, you 
must certainly include The bonniest lass in a' the 
warld in your collection. 

Dainty Davie, I have heard sung, nineteen 
thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and 
always with the chorus to the low part of the 
tune; and nothing has surprised me so much as 
your opinion on this subject. If it will not suit 
as I proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas to- 
gether, and then make the chorus follow. 



( 341 ) 

Fee Mm father — I inclose you Frazer's set of 
this tune when he plays it slow ; in fact he makes 
it the language of despair. I shall here give you 
two stanzas, in that style, merely to try if it will 
be any improvement. Were it possible, in sing- 
ing, to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives 
it in playing, it would make an admirably pathetic 
song. I do not give these verses for any merit 
they have. I composed them at the time in 
which Patie Allan's mither died, that was about 
the hack o' mid-night; and by the lee-side of a 
bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal 
in company, except the hautbois and the muse. 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever, 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death. Only should us sever. 
Now thou'st left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee never, 
Jamie, 
I'll see thee never. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken^^ 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo, V^'hile my heart is breaking : 
Soon my weary e'en I'll close — Ne'er mair to waken, 
Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken.* 

Jockey and Jenny I would discard, and in its 
place would put There's nae luck about the house, 
wiiich has a very pleasant air, and which is posi- 
tively the finest love-ballad in that style in the 
Scottish, or perhaps in any other language. When 
she came hen she bobbet, as an air, is more beauti- 

This is the M'hole of the song. The bar^l never proceeded 
any farther. Note by Mr. Thomson. 



( 342 ) 

ful than either, and in the andante way, would 
unite with a charming sentimental hallad. 

Sazv ye my Father ? is one of my greatest fa- 
vouritei The evening before last, I wandered 
out, and began a tender song; in what I think is 
its native style. I must premise, that the old 
way, and the way to give most effect, is to have 
no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to 
burst at once into the pathos. Every country 
girl sings— -^'aw ye my father, &c. 

My song is but just begun ; and 1 should like, 
before 1 proceed, to know your opinion of it. I 
have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it 
may be easily turned into correct English. 

' Where are the joys," &c. — See Poems, p. 414. 

Todlin liame. Urbani mentioned an idea of his, 
which has long been mine ; that this air is highly 
susceptible of pathos ; accordingly, you will soon 
hear him at your concert, try it to a song of mine 
in the Museum; Ye banks and braes o' bonnie 
Boon. One song more and I have done: Auld 
lang syne. The air is but mediocre; but the fol- 
lowing song, the old song of the olden times, and 
which has never been in print, nor even in manu- 
script, until I took it down from an old man's 
singing, is enough to recommend any air. 

' Should auld acquaintance be forgot.'— jS'ee Poems, p. 413. 

Now I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. 
You must, after all is over, have a number of bal- 
lads, properly so called. Gill Morice, Tranent 
Muir, M'Pherson's farewell, Battle of Sheriff- 
muir, or We ran and they ran, (I know the 
author of this charming ballad, and his history). 



( 343 ) 

Hardiknute, Barbara Allan, (I can furnish a 
finer set of this tune than any that has yet ap- 
peared), and besides, do you know that I really 
have the old tune to which The Cherry and the 
Slae was sung ; and which is mentioned as a well 
known air in Scotland's Complaint, a book pub- 
lished before poor Mary's days. It was then call- 
ed The Banks o' Helicon; an old poem which 
Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all 
this in Ty tier's history of Scottish music. The 
tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit ; 
but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many 
original things of this kind. 



No. 190. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

A x\M happy, my dear Sir, that my ode 
pleases you so much. Your idea, " honour's bed," 
is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if 
you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I 
have altered the song as follows : 

' Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." — See Poems, p. 363. 

N. B, I have borrowed the last stanza from the 
common stall edition of Wallace. 

' A false usurper sinks in every foe. 
And liberty returns with every blow.' 



( 344 ) 



A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you 
had enough of my correspondence. The post 
goes, and my head aches miserably. One com- 
fort ! — I suffer so much, just now, in this w^orld, 
for last night's joviality, that I shall escape scot- 
free for it in the world to come. Amen. 



No. 191. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR BURNS. 

nth Sept. 1793. 

A THOUSAND thanks to you, my dear 
Sir, for your observations on the list of my songs. 
I am happy to find your ideas so much in unison 
with my own, respecting the generality of the 
airs, as well as the verses. About some of them 
we differ, but there is no disputing about hobby- 
horses. I shall not fail to profit by the remarks 
you make ; and to re-consider the whole with at- 
tention. 

Dainty Davie must be sung, two stanzas to- 
gether, and then the chorus : 'tis the proper way. 
I agree with you, that there may be something of 
pathos, or tenderness at least, in the air of Fee 
him Father, when performed with feeling : but a 
tender cast may be given almost to any lively air, 
if you sing it very slowly, expressively, and with 
serious words. I am, however, clearly and in- 
variably for retaining the cheerful tunes joined to 
their own humorous verses, wherever the verses 



{ 345 ) 

are passable. But the sweet song for Fee hivi 
Father, which you began about the back of mid- 
night, I will publish as an additional one. Mr. 
Jauies Balfour, the king of good fellows, and the 
best singer of the lively Scottish ballads that ever 
existed, has charmed thousands of companies with 
Fee him Father, and with Todlin hame also, to 
the old w^ords, which never should be disunited 
from either of these airs — Some Bacchanals I 
would wish to discard. Fy, leVs a' to the Bridal, 
for instance, is so coarse and vulgar, that I think 
it fit only to be sung in a company of drunken 
colliers ; and Saw ye my Father ? appears to me 
bbth indelicate and silly. 

One word more with regard to your heroic ode. 
I think, with great deference to the poet, that a 
prudent general would avoid saying any thing to 
his soldiers which might tend to make death more 
frightful than it is. Gory presents a disagreeable 
image to the mind, and to tell them ' Welcome 
to your gory bed,' seems rather a discouraging 
address, notwithstanding the alternative which 
follows. I have shewn the song to three friends 
of excellent taste, and each of them objected to 
this line, which emboldens me to use the freedom 
of bringing it again under your notice. I would 
suggest, 

* Now prepare for honour's bed. 
Or for glorious victorie/ 

2 Y 



( 346 ; 

No. 192. 
iMR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON, 

September, 1795. 

Who shall decide when doctors dis- 
agree?' My ode pleases me so much that I can- 
not alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in 
my opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly 
obliged to you for putting me on reconsidering it ; 
as I think I have much improved it. Instead of 
* soger ! hero !' I will have it * Caledonian ! on wi' 
me !' 

I have scrutinized it over and over ; and to the 
world some way or other it shall go as it is. At 
the same time it will not in the least hurt me, 
should you leave it out altogether, and adhere to 
your first intention of adopting Logan's verses. 

I have finished my song to Saw ye my Father ? 
and in English, as you will see. That there is a 
syllable too much for the eocpressioit of the air, is 
true ; but allow me to say, that the mere dividing 
of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, 
is not a great matter : however, in that I have no 
pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of 
the poetry I speak with confidence; but the 
music is a business where 1 hint my ideas with 
the utmost diffidence. 

The old verses have merit, though unequal, 
and are popular : my advice is, to set the air to 
the old words, and let mine follow as English 
verses. Here they are — 



( m ) 

* Where are the joys I have met in the morning/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 414. 

Adieu, my dear Sir ! The post goes, so I shall 
defer some other remarks until more leisure. 



No. 193. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

X HAVE been turning over some vo- 
lumes of songs, to find verses whose measures 
would suit the airs, for which you have allotted 
me to find English songs. 

For Muhiand Willie, you have, in Ramsay's 
Tea-table, an excellent song, beginning, * Ah ! 
why those tears in Nelly's eyes?' As for The 
Collier's Dochter, take the following old Bacchanal. 

* Deluded swain, the pleasure," &c. — See Poems, p. 415. 

The faulty line in Logan- Water, I mend thus : 

' How can your flinty hearts enjoy. 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ?* 

The song otherwise will pass. As to M^Gre- 
goira Rua-Ruth, you will see a song of mine to 
it, with a set of the air superior to yours, in the 
Museum, vol. ii. p. 181. The song begins, 

' Raving winds around her blowing.' 

Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are down- 
right Irish. If they were like the Banks of 



( 348 ) 

Banna, for instance, though really Irish, yet in 
the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since 
you are so fond of Irish music, what say you to 
twenty-five of them in an additional number? 
We could easily find this quantity of charming 
airs: I will take care that you shall not want 
songs; and I assure you that you would find it 
the most saleable of the whole. If you do not 
approve of Roy's Wife, for the music's sake, we 
shall not insert it. Deil tak the wars, is a charm- 
ing song ; so is. Saw ye my Peggy ? There's nae 
luck about the house, well deserves a place. I 
cannot say that. O'er the hills and far awa, strikes 
me as equal to your selection. This is no ?ny ain 
house, is a great favourite air of mine ; and if you 
will send me your set of it, I will task my muse 
to her highest effort. What is your opinion of / 
hae laid a Herrin in sawt ? I like it much. 
Your Jacobite airs are pretty ; and there are 
many others of the same kind, pretty; but you 
have not room for them. You cannot, I think, 
insert Fie, let us a' to the bridal, to any other 
words than its own. 

What pleases me, as simple and niave, disgusts 
you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, Fie, 
gie me my coggie, Sirs, Fie, let us a' to the bridal, 
with several others of that cast, are to me highly 
pleasing ; while, Saw ye my father, or saw ye my 
mother-, delights me with its descriptive simple 
pathos. Thus my song. Ken ye what Meg o' the 
'mill has gotten f pleases myself so much, that I 
cannot try my hand at another song to the air ; so 
I shall not attempt it. I know you w^ill laugh at 
jail this : but, * ilka man wears his belt his ain gait.' 



( S49 ) 

No. 194. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Octobe?', 1793. 

JL OUR last letter, my dear Thomson, 
was indeed laden with heavy news. Alas, poor 
Erskine !* The recollection that he was a coad- 
jutor in your publication, has till now scared me 
from writing to you, or turning my thoughts on 
composing for you. 

I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air 
of the Qnakcj^'s Wife; though, by the bye, an 
old Highland gentleman, and a deep antiquarian, 
tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name 
of Leiger m' choss. The following verses, I hope, 
will please you, as an English song to the air. 

Thine am 1, my faithful fair, 

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 

Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart. 

There to throb and languish : 
Tho' despair had wrung its core, 

That Mould heal its anguish, JT.^ 



^ 

V 



Take away these rosy lips, 

Rich with balmy treasure : 
Turn away thine eyes of love. 

Lest I die with pleasure. 

* The honourable A. Erskine, brother to lord Kelly, whose 
melancholy death Mr. Thomson had communicated in an excel- 
lent letter, which he has suppressed. 



( 350 ) 

What is life, when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning : 
Loves the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 

Your objection to the English song I proposed 
for John Anderson my jo, is certainly just. The 
following is by an old acquaintance of mine, and 
I think has merit. The song was never in print, 
which I think is so much in your favour. The 
more original good poetry your collection con- 
tains, it certainly has so much the more merit. 

SONG, 

BY GAVIN TURNBULL. 

O, condescend, dear charming maid. 

My wretched state to view ; 
A tender swain to love betray'd. 

And sad despair, by you. 

While here, all melancholy. 

My passion I deplore. 
Yet, urg'd by stern resistless fate, 

I love thee more and more. 

I heard of love, and with disdain. 

The urchin's power denied; 
I laughed at every lover's pain. 

And mock'd them when they sigh'd. 

But how my state is alter'd ! 

Those happy days are o'er ; 
For all thy unrelenting hate, 

I love thee more and more. 

O, yield, illustrious beauty, yield. 

No longer let me mourn ; 
And tho' victorious in the field. 

Thy captive do not scorn. 



( 351 ) 

Let generous pity warm thee. 

My wonted peace restore ; 
And, grateful, T shall bless thee still. 

And love thee more and more. 

The following address of Turnbull's to the 
Nightingale, will suit as an English song to the 
air, There was a lass and she was fair. By the 
bye, TurnbuU has a great many songs in MS. 
which I can command, if you like his manner. 
Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may be 
prejudiced in his favour, but 1 like some of his 
pieces very much. 

THE NIGHTINGALE. 

BY G. TURNBULL. 

THOU sweetest minstrel of the grove. 

That ever tried the plaintive strain. 
Awake thy tender tale of love. 

And sooth a poor forsaken swain. 

For tho' the muses deign to aid. 

And teach him smoothly to complain ; 
Yet Delia, charming^ cruel maid. 

Is deaf to her forsaken swain. 

All day, with fashions' gaudy sons. 

In sport she wanders o'er the plain : 
Their tales approves, and still she shims 

The notes of her forsaken swain. 

When evening shades obscure the sky. 

And bring the solemn hours again. 
Begin, sweet bird, thy melody. 

And sooth a poor forsaken swain. 

I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, 
which would go charmingly to Lewie Gordon. 



( 352 ) 
LAURA. 

BY G. TURNBULL. 

Let me wander where I will, 
By shady wood or winding rill ; 
Where the sweetest May-born flowers 
Paint the meadows, deck the bowers ; 
Where the linnet's early song 
Echoes sweet the woods among : 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

If at rosy dawn I chuse. 
To indulge the smihng muse ; 
If I court some cool retreat. 
To avoid the noon-tide heat ; 
If beneath the moon's pale ray, 
Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray ; 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

When at night the drowsy god 
Waves his sleep-compelling rod, 
And to fancy's wakeful eyes 
Bids celestial visions rise ; 
While with boundless joy I rove 
Thro' the fairy-land of love ; 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

The rest of your letter I shall answer at some 
other opportunity. 



( 353 ) 

No. 195. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

1th Nov. 1793. 

My good Sir, 

After so long a sUence, it gave me 
peculiar pleasure to recognize your well-known 
hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive that all 
was not well with you. I am happy to find, 
however, that your silence did not proceed from 
that cause, and that you have got among the bal- 
lads once more. 

I have to thank you for your English song to 
Leige?' m' ckoss, which I think extremely good, 
although the colouring is warm. Your friend 
Mr. Turnbull's songs have doubtless considerable 
merit ; and as you have the command of his 
manuscripts, I hope you will find out some that 
will answer, as English songs, to the airs yet un- 
provided. 



No. 196. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

December, 1793. 

JL ELL me how you like the following 
verses to the tune of Jo Janet. 

2 Z 



( 354 ) 
* Husband, husband, cease your strife/ — See Poems, p. '±1, 



^Wilt thou be my dearie?' — See Poems, p. 417' 



No. 197. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 17th April, 1794. 

My dear Sir, 

U WING to the distress of our friend for 
the loss of his child, at the time of his receiving 
your admirable but melancholy letter, I had not 
an opportunity, till lately, of perusing it. How 
sorry I am to find Burns saying, * Canst thou not 
minister to a mind diseased ?' while he is delight- 
ing others from one end of the island to the other. 
Like the hypochondriac who went to consult a 
physician upon his case — Go, says the doctor, 
and see the famous Carlini, wlib keeps all Paris 
in good humour. Alas! sir, replied the patient, 
I am that unhappy Carlini ! 

Your plan for our meeting together pleases me 
greatly, and I trust that by some means or other 
it will soon take place; but your Bacchanalian 
challenge almost frightens me, for I am a misera- 
ble weak drinker ! 

Allan is much gratified by your good opinion 
of his talents. He has just begun a sketch from 
yonr Cotter's Saturday Night, and if it pleases 
himself in the design, he will probably etch or 



'OQTTER'S SATITRD at 'NIG HT , 







£naraved ^erAfacienzie &Den.t) £eit^n.. 



( 355 ) 

engrave it. In subjects of the pastoral and hu- 
morous kind, he is, perhaps, unrivalled by any 
artist living. He fails a little in giving beauty 
and grace to his females, and his colouring is 
sombre, otherwise his paintings and drawings 
would be in greater request. 

I like the music of the Suto7^'s DocJtter, and 
will consider whether it shall be added to the last 
volume; your verses to it are pretty; but your 
humorous English song, to suit Jo Janet, is in- 
imitable. What think you of the air, Within a 
mile of Edinbui'gh ? It has always struck me as 
a modern English imitation, but it is said to be 
Oswald's, and is so much liked, that I believe I 
must include it. The verses are little better than 
namby pamby. Do you consider it worth a stanza 
or two ? 



No. 198. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

May, 1794-. 

My dear Sir, 

I RETURN you the plates, with w^hich 
I am highly pleased; I would humbly propose 
instead of the younker knitting stockings, to put 
a stock and horn into his hands. A friend of 
mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the 
subject I have ever met wdth, and though an un- 
known, is yet a superior artist with the Bmin, is 
quite charmed with Allan's manner, I got him a 



( 356 ) 

peep of the Gentle Shepherd; and he pronounces 
Allan a most original artist of great excellence. 

For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing 
my favourite poem for his subject, to be one of 
the highest compliments I have ever received. 

I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up 
in France, as it will put an entire stop to our 
work. Now, and for six or seven months, / shall he 
quite in song, as you shall see by-and-by. I got 
an air, pretty enough, composed by lady Elizabeth 
Heron, of Heron, which she calls The Banks of 
Cree, Cree is a beautiful romantic stream ; and 
as her ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I 
have written the following song to it. 

' Here is the glen, and here the bower.' — See Poems , ;?. 417- 



No. 199. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Jult/, 1794. 

J[s there no news yet of Pleyel? Oris 
your work to be at a dead stop, until the allies 
set our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage 
thraldom of democratic discords ? Alas the day ! 
And w^oe is me ! That auspicious period, preg- 
nant with the happiness of millions.* — 

* «- 4- * * * 



* A part of this letter has been omitted, for obvious political 
reasons. 



( 357 ) 

I have presented a copy of your songs to the 
daughter of a much-valued and much-honoured 
friend of mine, Mr. Graham, of Fintry. I wrote 
on the blank side of the title page the following 
address to the young lady : 

' Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 332. 



No. 200. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, lOtk August, 1794. 

My dear Sir, 

JL OWE you an apology for having so 
long delayed to acknowledge the favour of your 
last. I fear it will be as you say, I shall have no 
more songs from Pleyel till France and w^e are 
friends; but nevertheless, I am very desirous to 
be prepared w^ith the poetry ; and as the season 
approaches in which your muse of Coila visits 
you, I trust I shall as formerly be frequently gra- 
tified with the result of your amorous and tender 
interviews ! 



( 358 ) 

No. 201. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

SOtk August, 1794. 

1 HE last evening, as I was straying out, 
and thinking of, O'er the hills and far axtay, I 
spun the following stanza for it ; but whether my 
spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, like 
the precious thread of the silk worm, or brushed 
to the devil, like the vile manufacture of the 
spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your usual candid 
criticism. I was pleased with several lines in it 
at first : but I ow n that now it appears rather a 
flimsy business. 

This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether 
it be worth a critique. We have many sailor 
songs, but as far as I at present recollect, they 
are mostly the effusions of the jovial sailor, not 
the w^ailings of his love-lorn mistress. I must 
here make one sweet exception — Szveet Annie 
frae the Sea-beach came. Now for the song. 

'How can my poor heart be glad/ &c. — See Poems, p. 418. 

I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it 
in the spirit of Christian meekness. 



( 359 ) 

No. 202. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, l6tk Sept. 1794. 

My dear Sir, 

jL OU have anticipated my opinion of 0;^ 
the seas and far away ; I do not think it one of 
your very happy productions, though it certainly 
contains stanzas that are v^orthy of all acceptation. 
The second is the least to my liking, particu- 
larly, ' Bullets, spare my only joy !' Confound 
the bullets ! It mighty perhaps, be objected to 
the third verse, 'At the starless midnight hour,' 
that it has too much grandeur of imagery, and 
that greater simplicity of thought would have 
better suited the character of a sailor's sweetheart. 
The tune, it must be remembered, is of the brisk, 
cheerful kind. Upon the whole, therefore, in my 
humble opinion, the song would be better adapted 
to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and 
last verses, with the chorusses. 



No. 203. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September J 1794. 

X SHALL withdraw my. On the seas 
and far away y altogether: it is unequal, and un- 



( 360 ) 

worthy the work. Making a poem is like beget- 
ting a son : you cannot know whether you have 
a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to 
the world to try him. 

For that reason I send you the offspring of my 
brain, abortions and all ; and, as such, pray look 
over them, and forgive them, and burn them. I 
am flattered at your adopting Ca' the yowes to the 
knowes, as it was owing to me that ever it saw 
the light. About seven years ago I was well ac- 
quainted with a w^orthy little fellow of a clergy- 
man, a Mr. Clunie, who sung it charmingly; 
and, at my request, Mr. Clarke took it down 
from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I 
added some stanzas to the song and mended 
others, but still it will not do for you. In a soli- 
tary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand 
on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of 
the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, 
with all its crudities and imperfections on its head. 

' Ca' the yowes to the knowes/ &c. — See Poems, p. 420. 

I shall give you my opinion of your other 
newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit. 



No. 204. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

September, 1794. 

JLf O you know a blackguard Irish song 
called Onagh's Water-fall ^ The air is charming. 



( 361 ) 

land I have often regretted the want of decent 
verses to it. It is too much, at least for my hum- 
ble rustic muse, to expect that every effort of 
her's shall have merit ; still I think that it is bet- 
ter to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, 
than none at all. On this principle I have all 
along proceeded in the Scots Musical Museum; 
and as that publication is at its last volume, I in- 
tend the following song to the air above-mention- 
ed, for that work. 

If it does not suit you as an editor, you may l>e 
pleased to have verses to it that you can sing be- 
fore ladies. 

'Sae flaxen were her ringlets/ &c. — See Poems, p. 421. 

Not to compare small things with great, my 
taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of 
Prussia's taste in painting: we are told that he 
frequently admired what the connoisseurs decried, 
and always without any hypocrisy confessed his 
admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music 
must be inelegant and vulgar, because people of 
undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit 
in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply 
pleased, is that any reason why I should deny 
myself that pleasure ? Many of our strathspeys, 
ancient and modern, give me most exquisite en- 
joyment, where you and other judges would pro- 
bably be shewing disgust. For instance, I am 
just now making verses for Rot /demur eke' s Rant, 
an air which puts me in raptures; and in fact, 
unless I be pleased with the tune, I never can 
make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my 
side who is a judge that I will pit against any of 
16 3 A 



( 362 ) 

you. Rothiemurche, he says, is an air both origi- 
nal and beautiful ; and on his recommendation I 
have taken the first part of the tune for a chorus, 
and the fourth or last part for the song. 1 am 
but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly 
you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as 
little worth your attention as the music. 

' Lassie wi' the lint white locks/ &c. — See Poems, p. 432. 

I have begun anew. Let me in this ae night. 
Do you think that we ought to retain the old 
chorus? I think we must retain both the old 
chorus and the first stanza of the old song. I do 
not altogether like the third line of the first stanza, 
but cannot alter it to please myself I am just 
three stanzas deep in it. Would you have the 
denouement to be successful or otherwise ? should 
she • let him in,' or not ? 

Did you not once propose The Sow's Tail to 
Geordie, as an air for your work ? I am quite 
delighted with it ; but 1 acknowledge that is no 
mark of its real excellence. I once set about 
verses for it, which I meant to be in the alternate 
way of a lover and his mistress chanting together. 
I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Thom- 
son's Christian name, and yours I am afraid is 
rather burlesque for sentiment, else I had meant 
to have made you the hero and heroine of the lit- 
tle piece. 

How do you like the following epigram, which 
I wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's re- 
covery from a fever? Doctor Maxwell was the 
physician, who seemingly saved her from the 
grave ; and to him 1 address the following. 



( 363 ) 

'Maxwell, if merit here you crave/ &c. — See Poems, p. 291. 

God grant you patience with this stupid epistle ! 



No. 205. 
]\IR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is 
now attendant upon her favourite poet, whose 
wood-notes wild are becoming as enchanting as 
ever. She says she lo'es me best of a\ is one of 
the pleasant est table- songs I have seen, and hence- 
forth shall be mine when the song is going round. 
I'll give Cunningham a copy ; he can more power- 
fully proclaim its merit. I am far from under- 
valuing your taste for the strathspey music; on 
the contrary, I think it highly animating and 
agreeable, and that some of the strathspeys, when 
graced with such verses as yours, will make very 
pleasing songs, in the same way that rough Chris- 
tians are tempered and softened by lovely woman ; 
without whom, you know, they had been brutes. 

I am clear for having the Sow's Tail, particu- 
larly as your proposed verses to it are so extremely 
promising. Geordie, as you observe, is a name 
only fit for burlesque composition. Mrs. Thom- 
son's name (Katharine) is not at all poetical. Re- 
tain Jeanie therefore, and make the other Jamie, 
or any other that sounds agreeably. 

Your Ca' the ewes, is a precious little morceau. 
Indeed I am perfectly astonished and charmed 
with the endless variety of your fancy. Here let 



( 364 ) 

me ask you, whether you never seriously turned 
your thoughts upon dramatic writing ? That is a 
field worthy of your genius, in which it might 
shine forth in all its splendour. One or two suc- 
cessful pieces upon the London stage would make 
your fortune. The rage at present is for musical 
dramas : few or none of those w^hich have appear- 
ed since the Duenna, possess much poetical merit : 
there is little in the conduct of the fable, or in 
the dialogue, to interest the audience. They 
are chiefly vehicles for music and pageantry. I 
think you might produce a comic opera in three 
acts, which would live by the poetry, at the same 
time that it would be proper to take every assist- 
ance from her tuneful sister. Part of the songs of 
course would be to our favourite Scottish airs ; the 
rest might be left to the London composer — Sto- 
race for Drury-lane, or Shield for Covent-garden : 
both of them very able and popular musicians. 1 
believe that interest and manoeuvring are often 
necessary to have a drama brought on ; so it may 
be with the namby pamby tribe of flowery scrib- 
blers ; but were you to address Mr. Sheridan him- 
self by letter, and send him a dramatic piece, I 
am persuaded he would, for the honour of genius, 
give it a fair and candid trial. Excuse me for ol> 
truding these hints upon your consideration.** 

* Our bai'd had before received the same advice, and cer- 
tainly took it so far into consideration^ as to have cast about for 
ft subject. 



( 365 ) 



No. 206. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, Utk Oct. 1794. 

A HE last eight days have been devoted 
to the re-examination of the Scottish collections. 
I have read, and sung, and fiddled, and consider- 
ed, till I am half blind, and wholly stupid. The 
few airs I have added, are enclosed. 

Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs 
I expected from him, which are in general elegant 
and beautiful. Have you heard of a London col- 
lection of Scottish airs and songs, just published 
by Mr. Ritson, an Englishman? I shall send 
you a copy. His introductory essay on the sub- 
ject is curious, and evinces great reading and re- 
search, but does not decide the question as to the 
origin of our melodies ; though he shews clearly 
that Mr. Tytler, in his ingenious dissertation, has 
adduced no sort of proof of the hypothesis he 
wished to establish ; and that his classification of 
the airs according to the eeras when they were 
composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On 
John Pinkerton, esq. he has no mercy ; but con- 
signs him to damnation ! He snarls at my publi- 
cation, on the score of Pindar being engaged to 
write songs for it; uncandidly and unjustly 
leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of Scot- 
tish writers had been sent a-packing to make 
room for Peter's ! Of you he speaks with some 
respect, but gives you a passing hit or two, for 



( 366 ) 

daring to dress up a little, some old foolish songs 
for the Museum. His sets of the Scottish airs 
are taken, he says, from the oldest collections and 
best authorities : many of them, however, have 
such a strange aspect, and are so unlike the sets 
which are sung by every person of taste, old or 
young, in town or country, that we can scarcely 
recognize the features of our favourites. By going 
to the oldest collections of our music, it does not 
follow that we find the melodies in their original 
state. These melodies had been preserved, we 
know not how long, by oral communication, be- 
fore being collected and printed ; and as different 
persons sing the same air very differently, accord- 
ing to their accurate or confused recollection of it, 
so, even supposing the first collectors to have pos- 
sessed the industry, the taste, and discernment to 
choose the best they could hear, (which is far 
from certain) still it must evidently be a chance, 
whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies 
in the state they were first composed. In select- 
ing the melodies for my own collection, I have 
been as much guided by the living as by the dead. 
Where these differed, I preferred the sets that ap- 
peared to me the most simple and beautiful, and 
the most generally approved : and without mean- 
ing any compliment to my own capability of 
choosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, 
I flatter myself that my sets will be found equally 
freed from vulgar errors on the one hand, and af- 
fected graces on the other. 



( 367 ) 

No. 207. 
MR. BUKNS TO MR THOMSON. 

igtk October, 1794. 

My dear Friend, 

Jl$Y this morning's post I have your list, 
and, in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, 
at more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. 
Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I 
wish you would call on him and take his opinion 
in general : you know his taste is a standard. He 
will return here again in a week or two ; so, please 
do not miss asking for him. One thing I hope 
he will do, persuade you to adopt my favourite, 
Craigie-hurn- Wood, in your selection ; it is as 
great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on 
whom it was made, is one of the finest women in 
Scotland ; and in fact (entre nous) is in a manner 
to me, what Sterne's Eliza was to him — a mis- 
tress, or friend, or what you will, in the guileless 
simplicity of Platonic love. (Now don't put any 
of your squinting constructions on this or have 
any clishmaclaver about it among our acquaint- 
ances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you 
are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. 
Do you think that the sober, gin-horse routine of 
existence, could inspire a man with life, and love, 
and joy — could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt 
him with pathos, equal to the genius of your 



( 368 ) 

book ? No ! no ! — Whenever I want to be more 
than ordinary in song ; to be in some degree equal 
to your diviner airs; do you imagine I fast and 
pray for the celestial emanation ? T'out au con- 
traire ! I have a glorious recipe; the very one 
that for his own use was invented by the divinity 
of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the 
flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of 
admiring a fine woman ; and in proportion to the 
adorability of her charms, in proportion you are 
delighted with my verses. The lightning of her 
eye is the godhead of Parnassus ; and the witchery 
of her smile, the divinity of Helicon ! 

To descend to business ; if you like my idea 
of When she cam hen she bobbii, the following 
stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they 
were formerly when set to another air, may per- 
haps do instead of worse stanzas. 

' O saw ye my dear^ my Phely/ &c. — See Poems, p. 422. 

Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. The 
Posie, (in the Museum) is my composition; the 
air w^as taken down from Mrs. Burn's voice. It 
is well known in the West Country, but the old 
words are trash. By the bye, take a look at the 
tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is 
the original from which Roslin Castle is composed. 
The second part, in particular, for the first two or 
three bars, is exactly the old air. Strathallan's 
Lament is mine ; the music is by our right trusty 
and deservedly well-beloved Allan Masterton. 
Donocht'Head is not mine; I would give ten 
pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edin- 
biu'gh Herald ; and came to the editor of that 



{ 369 ) 

paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it.^ 
Whistle o'er the lave o't is mine: the music said 

* The reader will be curious to see this poem, so highly 
praised by Bums. It was written by George Pickering, of 
Newcastle. 

Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head, 

The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale ; 
The Gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck, 

And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale : 
* Cauld is the night, O let me in. 

And dinna let your minstrel fa' ; 
And dinna let his winding sheet 

Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. 

Full ninety winters hae I seen. 

And pip'd where gor-cocks whirring flew ; 
And mony a day I've danc'd, I ween. 

To lilts which from my drone I blew.' 
My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cry'd, 

* Get up guidman, and let him in ; 
For weel ye ken the winter night 

Was short when he began his din.' 

My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet. 

Even tho' she bans and scalds a wee ; 
But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale, 

O, haith, its doubly dear to me ! 
Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire, 

I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame ; 
Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate. 

Ye should nae stray sae far frae hame. 

' Nae hame have I,' tlie minstrel said. 

Sad party-strife o'erturned my ha' ; 
And, weeping, at the eve of life, 

I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw.' 



This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The author 
need not be ashamed to own himself. It is worthy of Burns, 
or of Macneil. 

3 B 



( 370 ) 

to be by a John Bruce, a celebrated violin-player 
in Dumfries, about the beginning of this century. 
This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, 
though a red-wud Highlandman, constantly claim- 
ed it; and by all the old musical people here, is 
believed to be the author of it. 

Andrew and his cutty Gun. The song to which 
this is set in the Museum is mine, and was com- 
posed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, 
commonly and deservedly called the Flower of 
Strath more. 

How long and dixary is the night! I met 
with some such words in a collection of songs 
somewhere, which I altered and enlarged ; and to 
please you, and to suit your favourite air, I have 
taken a stride or two across my room, and have 
arranged it anew, as you will find on the other 
page. 

* How lang and dreary is the night/ &c. — See Poems, p, 427- 

Tell me how you like this. I differ from your 
idea of the expression of the tune. There is, to 
me, a great deal of tenderness in it. You cannot, 
in my opinion, dispense with a bass to your ad- 
denda airs. A lad}^ of my acquaintance, a noted 
performer, plays and sings at the same time so 
charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of 
her songs sent into the world, as naked as Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-um has done in his London col- 
lection.* 

These English songs gravel me to death. 1 
have not that command of the language that I 

* Mr. Ritson. 



{ 371 ) 

have of my native tongue. I have been at Dun- 
can Gray, to dress it in English, but all I can do 
is deplorably stupid. For instance : 

' Let not woman e'er complain/ &c. — See Poems, p. 42S. 

Since the above, I have been out in the coun- 
try, taking a dinner with a friend, where I met 
with the lady whom I mentioned in the second 
page in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual 
I got into song; and returning home I composed 
the following : 

* Sleep'st thou or wak'st thou, fairest creature,' &c. 

See Poems, p. 4S0. 

If you honour my verses by setting the air to 
them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it 
English enough to be understood. 

I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East In- 
dian air, which you would swear was a Scottish 
one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gen- 
tleman, who brought it over, is a particular ac- 
quaintance of mine. > Do preserve me the copy I 
send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke 
has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into 
the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I 
intend for it. 

' But lately seen in gladsome green/ &c. — See Poems, p. 426. 

I would be obliged to you if you would procure 
me a sight of Kitson's collection of English songs, 
which you mention in your letter. 1 will thank 
you for another information, and that as speedily 
as you please; whether this miserable drawling 
hotchpotch epistle has not completely tired you of 
my correspondence ? 



( ST2 ) 

No. 208. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 21th Oct. 1794-. 

X AM sensible, my dear friend, that a 
genuine poet can no more exist without his mis- 
tress than his meat. I wish 1 knew the adorable 
she whose bright eyes and witching smiles have 
so often enraptured the Scottish bard! that I 
might drink her sweet health when the toast is 
going round. Craigie-burn-Wood must certainly 
be adopted into my family since she is the object 
of the song; but in the name of decency I must 
beg a new chorus- verse from you. O to be lying 
beyond thee, dearie, is perhaps a consummation 
to be wished, but will not do for singing in the 
company of ladies. The songs in yo\u' last will; 
do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs 
charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with 
respect to the additional airs. The idea of send- 
ing them into the world naked as they were born 
was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and 
made decent by our friend Clarke. 

I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cun- 
ningham in sending you Ritson's Scottish col- 
lection. Permit me, therefore, to present you 
with his Englisli collection, which you will re- 
ceive by the coach. 1 do not find his historical 
essay on Scottish song interesting. Your anec- 
dotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am sure, 
be much more so. Allan has just sketched a 



( 373 ) 

charming design fronn Maggie Lauder. She is 
dancing with such spirit as to electrify the piper, 
who seems almost dancing too, while he is play- 
ing with the most exquisite glee. I am much 
inclined to get a small copy, and to have it en- 
graved in the style of Ritson's prints. 

P. S. Pray what do your anecdotes say con- 
cerning Maggie Lauder ? was she a real person- 
age, and of what rank ? You would surely spier 
for her if you ca'ed at Anstruther town. 



No. 209. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

November, 1794. 

3(1 ANY thanks to you, my dear Sir, 
for your present. It is a book of the utmost im- 
portance to me. I have yesterday begun my 
anecdotes, kc. for your work. I intend drawing 
it up in the form of a letter to you, which will 
save me from the tedious, dull business of syste- 
matic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say 
consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps 
of old songs, &:c. it would be impossible to give 
the work a beginning, a middle, and an end, 
which the critics insist to be absolutely necessary 
in a work. In my last, I told you my objections 
to the song you had selected for My Lodging is 
on the cold Ground. On my visit the other day 
to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic name of the 
lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested 



( 374 ) 

an idea, which I, in my return from the visit, 
wrought into the following song. 

' My Chloris, mark how green the groves/ — See Poems, p. 4S1. 

How do you like the simplicity and tenderness 
of this pastoral ? I think it pretty well. 

I like you for entering so candidly and so kind- 
ly into the story of Ma chere Amie. I assure you 
I was never more in earnest in my life, than in 
the account of that affair which I sent you in my 
last. — Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply 
feel, and highly venerate ; but, somehow, it does 
not make such a figure in poesy as that other 
species of the passion, 

' Where Love is Liberty, and Nature law/ 

Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of 
which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the 
tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last has 
powers equal to all the intellectual modulations 
of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet in 
my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and 
happiness of the beloved object is the first and in- 
violate sentiment that pervades my soul; and 
whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever 
might be the raptures they would give me, yet, 
if they interfere with that first principle, it is 
having these pleasures at a dishonest price; and 
justice forbids, and generosity disdains the pur- 

Despairing of my own powers to give you 
variety enough in English songs, 1 have been 
turning over old collections, to pick out songs, of 
which the measure is something similar to what I 



( 375 ) 

want; and, with a little alteration, so as to suit 
the rhythm of the air exactly, to give you them 
for your work. Where the songs have hitherto 
been but little noticed, nor have ever been set to 
music, I think the shift a fair one. A song, 
which, under the same first verse, you will find 
in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, I have cut 
down for an English dress to your Daintie Davie, 
as follows : 

. * It was the charming month of May.'— See Poems, p. 428. 

You may think meanly of this, but take a look 
at the bombast original, and you will be surprised 
that 1 have made so much of it. I have finished 
my song to Rothiemurche's Rant ; and you have 
Clarke to consult as to the set of the air for sing- 
ing. 

'Lassie wi' the lint-white locks.' &c. — See Poems, p. 432. 

This piece has at least the merit of being a re- 
gular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer 
noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter 
night, are regularly rounded. If you like it, 
well: if not, 1 will insert it in the Museum. 

I am out of temper that you should set so 
sweet, so tender an air, as, Deil fak the Wars, to 
the foolish old verses. You talk of the silliness of 
Savo ye my Father ? by heavens ! the odds is gold 
to brass ! Besides, the old song, though now pretty 
well modernized into the Scottish language, is 
originally, and in the early editions, a bungling 
low imitation of the Scottish manner, by that 
genius Tom D'Urfey : so has no pretensions to 
be a Scottish production. There is a pretty Eng- 



( 376 ) 

lish song by Sheridan, in the Duenna, to this air, 
which is out of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It 
begins, 

' When sable night each drooping plant restoring.' 

The air, if I understand the expression of it pro- 
perly, is the very native language of simplicity, 
tenderness, and love. I have again gone over my 
song to the tune as follows.* 

Now for my English song to Nancy's to the 
Greenwood, 8^c, 

' Farewell thou stream that winding flows.' — See Poems, p. 398. 

There is an air. The Caledonian Hunts De- 
light, to which I wrote a song that you will find 
in Johnson. 

Ye banks and braes d bonnie Doon ; this air, I 
think, might find a place among your hundred, 
as Lear says of his knights. Do you know the 
history of the air? It is curious enough. A good 
many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your 
good town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, 
was in company with our friend Clarke ; and talk- 
ing of Scottish music, INIiller expressed an ardent 
ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. 
Clarke partly by way of joke, told him to keep to 
the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve 
some kind of rhythm; and he would infallibly 
compose a Scots air. Certain it is, that, in a few 



* See the song in its first and best dress, Poems, p. 430. 
Our bard remarks upon it, ' I could easily throw this into an 
English mould ; but, to my taiste, in the simple and the tender 
of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an 
inimitable effect.' 




A- 



^ 






^ V 



( 377 ) 

days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of an 
air, which ]Mr. Clarke with some touches and cor- 
rections, fashioned into the tune in question. 
Ritson, you know, has the same story of the 
Black Keys; but this account which I have just 
given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of, several 
vears a^ro. Now to shew vou how difficult it is 
to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it re- 
peatedly asserted that this was an Irish air ; nay, 
I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed he 
had heard it in Ireland among the old women ; 
while, on the other hand, a Countess informed 
me, that the first person who introduced the air 
into this country, was a baronet's lady of her ac- 
quaintance, who took down the notes from an 
itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult 
then to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy 
and music! I, myself, have lately seen a couple 
of ballads sung through the streets of Dumfries, 
with my name at the head of them as the author, 
though it was the first time I had ever seen them. 

I thank you for admitting O^aigk-hurn-Wood ; 
and I shall take care to furnish 3^ou with a new 
chorus. In fact the chorus was not my work, but 
a part of some old verses to the air. If I can 
catch myself in a more than ordinarily propitious 
moment, I shall write anew Craigic -burn- Wood 
altogether. My heart is much in the theme. 

I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the re- 
quest; 'tis dunning your generosity; but in a 
moment, vrhen I had forgotten whether I was 
rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your 
songs. It wrings my honest pride to write you 
this : but an ungracious request is doublv so bv a 

3 C 



( 378 ) 

tedious apology. To make you some amends, as 
soon as 1 have extracted the necessary information 
out of them, 1 will return you Ritson's volumes. 

Tlie lady is not a little proud that she is to 
make so distinguished a figure in your colleciion, 
and I am not a little proud that I have it in my 
power to please her so much. Lucky it is for 
your patience that my paper is done, for when I 
am in a scribbling humour, 1 know not when to 
give over. 



No. 210. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

My good Sir, 

15tk Novernber^ 1794. 

!^INCE receiving your last, 1 have had 
another interview with Mr. Clarke, and a long 
consultation. He thinks the Caledonian Hunt is 
more Bacchanalian than amorous in its nature, 
and recommends it to you to match the air ac- 
cordingly. Pray did it ever occur to you how 
peculiarly well the Scottish airs are adapted for 
verses in the form of a dialogue ? The first part 
of the air is generally low, and suited for a man's 
voice, and the second part in many instances can- 
not be sung, at concert pitch, but by a female 
voice. A song thus performed makes an agree- 
able variety, but few of ours are written in this 
form: I wish you would think of it in some of 



( 379 } 

those that remain. The only one of the kind you 
have sent me is admirable, and will be an uni- 
versal favourite. 

Your verses for Rothieviurche are so sweetly 
pastoral, and your serenade to Chloris, for Deil 
tak the Wars, so passionately tender, that I have 
sung myself into raptures with them. Your song 
for My lodging is on the cold ground, is likewise 
a diamond of the first water; I am quite dazzled 
and delighted by it. Some of your Chlorises I 
suppose have flaxen hair, from your partiality for 
this colour ; else we differ about it ; for I should 
scarcely conceive a woman to be a beauty, on 
reading that she had hnt-white locks. 

Farewell thou stream that winding flows, \ 
think excellent, but it is much too serious to 
come after Nancy: at least it would seem an in- 
congruity to provide the same air with merry 
Scottish and melancholy English verses ! The 
more that the two sets of verses resemble each 
other in their general character, the better. Those 
you have manufactured for Dainty Davie will 
answer charmingly. I am happy to find you 
have begun your anecdotes ! I care not how long 
they be, for it is impossible that any thing from 
your pen can be tedious. I^et me beseech you 
not to use ceremony in telling me v, hen you wish 
to present any of your friends with the songs: 
the next carrier will bring you three copies, and 
you are as welcome to twenty as to a pinch of 
snuff. 



{ 380 ) 

No. 211. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

19ik November, 1794. 

JL OU see, my dear Sir, what a punctual 
correspondent I am; though indeed you may 
thank yourself for the tedium of my letters, as 
you have so flattered me on my horsemanship 
with my favourite hobby, and have praised the 
grace of his ambling so much, that I am scarcely 
ever off his back. For instance, this morning, 
though a keen blowing frost, in my walk before 
breakfast, I finished my duet which you were 
pleased to praise so much. Whether I have uni- 
formly succeeded, I will not say ; but here it is 
for you, though it is not an hour old. 

' O Philly, happy be that day/ &c. — See Poems, p. 424. 

Tell me honestly how you like it; and point 
out whatever you think faulty. 

I am much pleased with your idea of singing 
our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that 
you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that 
remain, I shall have it in my eye. I remember 
your objections to the name Philly ; but it is the 
common abbreviation of PhilHs. Sally, the only 
other name that suits, has to my ear a vulgarity 
about it, which unfits it for any thing except 
burlesque. The legion of Scottish poetasters of 
the day, whom your brother editor, Mr. Ritson, 
ranks with me, as my coevals, have always mis- 



( 381 ) 

taken vulgarity for simplicity : whereas, simplicity 
is as much eloignee from vulgarity, on the one 
hand, as from affected point and puerile conceit 
on the other. 

I agree with you as to the air, Craigie-burn- 
Wood, that a chorus would in some degree spoil 
the effect; and shall certainly have none in my 
projected song to it. It is not however a case in 
point with Roihiemurche ; there, as in Roy's Wife 
of Aldivaloch, a chorus goes, to my taste, well 
enough. As to the chorus going first, that is the 
case with Roy's Wife, as well as Rothiemurche. 
In fact, in the first part of both tunes, the rhythm 
is so peculiar and irregular, and on that irregu- 
larity depends so much of their beauty, that we 
must e'en take them with all their wildness, and 
humour the verse accordingly. Leaving out the 
starting note, in both tunts, has, I think, an 
effect that no regularity could counterbalance the 
want of 

j,^^ r O Roy's Wife of Aldivaloch. 

'^' \ O lassie wi' the lint- white locks. 
and 

Comvare with -f JRo7/'s Wife of Aldivaloch. 

^ ' \ Lassie wi' the lint-white locks. 

Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable 
strike you ? In the last case, with the true furor 
of genius, you strike at once into the wild origin- 
ality of the air; whereas in the first insipid me- 
thod, it is like the grating screw of the pins before 
the fiddle is brought into tune. This is my taste; 
if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the cognoscenti. 

The Caledonian Hunt is so charming that it 
would make any subject in a song go down ; but 



( 382 ) 

pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scottish 
Bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few 
we have are excellent. For instance, Todlin 
Hame, is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled 
composition ; and Andrew and his cutty Gun, is 
the work of a master. By the way, are you not 
quite vexed to think that those men of genius, for 
such they certainly were, who composed our fine 
Scottish lyrics, should be unknown ? It has given 
me many a heart-ache. Apropos to Bacchanalian 
songs in Scottish ; I composed one yesterday, for 
an air I like much — Lumps o' Puddifig. 

' Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 4t26. 

If you do not relish this air, I will send it to 
Johnson. 



Since yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a 
couple of English stanzas, by way of an English 
song to Roy's Wife, You will allow me that in 
this instance, my English corresponds in senti- 
ment with the Scottish. 

' Is this thy plighted, fond regard/ &c. — See Poems, p. 429. 

Well ! T think this, to be done in two or three 
turns across my room, and with two or three 
pinches of Irish Blackguard, is not so far amiss. 
You see I am determined to have my quantum 
of applause from somebody. 

Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we 
only want the trifling circumstance of being 
known to one another, to be the best friends on 
earth), that I much suspect he has, in his plates, 



( 383 ) 

mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I 
have, at last, gotten one; but it is a very rude 
instrument. It is composed of three parts ; the 
stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, 
such as you see in a mutton ham ; the horn, 
which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut off 
at the smaller end, until the aperture be large 
enough to admit the stock to be pushed up 
through the horn until it be held by the thicker 
end of the thigh-bone ; and lastly, an oaten reed 
exactly cut and notched like that which you see 
every shepherd-boy have, when the corn-stems 
are green and full-grown. The reed is not made 
fast in the bone, but is held by the lips, and 
plays loose in the smaller end of the stock ; while 
the stock, wath the horn hanging on its larger 
end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock 
has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and 
one back-ventige, like the common flute. This 
of mine was made by a man from the braes of 
Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont 
to use in that country. 

However, either it is not quite properly bored 
in the holes, or else we have not the art of blow- 
ing it rightly ; for we can make little of it. If 
Mr. Allan chooses I will send him a sight of 
mine; as I look on myself to be a kind of bro- 
ther-brush with him. ' Pride in Poets is nae sin ;' 
and I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and 
Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters 
of Scottish costume in the w^orld. 



( 384 ) 

No. 212. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

28tk November, 1794. 

I ACKNOWLEDGE, my dear Sir, 
you are not only the most punctual, but the most 
delectable correspondent I ever met with. To 
attempt flattering you never entered into my 
head ; the truth is, I look back with surprise at 
my impudence, in so frequently nibbling at lines 
and couplets of your incomparable lyrics, for 
which, perhaps, if you had served me right, you 
would have sent me to the devil. On the con- 
trary, however, you have all along condescended 
to invite my criticism with so much courtesy, that 
it ceases to be wonderful, if I have sometimes 
given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last 
budget demands unqualified praise : all the songs 
are charming, but the duet is a chef d' oeuvre. 
Lumps o' Pudding shall certainly make one of 
my family dishes ; you have cooked it so capitally, 
that it will please all palates. Do give us a few 
more of this cast when you find yourself in good 
spirits; these convivial songs are more w^anted 
than those of the amorous kind, of which ^ve have 
great choice. Besides, one does not often meet 
with a singer capable of giving the proper effect 
to the latter, while the former are easily sung, 
and acceptable to every body. 1 participate in 
your regret that the authors of some of our best 



( 385 ) 

songs are unknown : it is provoking to every ad- 
mirer of genius. 

I mean to have a picture painted from your 
beautiful ballad. The Soldier's Return^ to be en- 
graved for one of my frontispieces. The most in- 
teresting point of time appears to me, when she 
first recognizes her ain dear Willy, * She gaz'd, 
she redden'd like a rose.' The three lines imme- 
diately following are no doubt more impressive 
on the reader's feelings ; but were the painter to 
fix on these, then you'll observe the animation 
and anxiety of her countenance is gone, and he 
could only represent her fainting in the soldier's 
arms. But I submit the matter to you, and beg 
your opinion. 

Allan desires me to thank your for your accurate 
description of the stock and horn, and for the very 
gratifying compliment you pay him in considering 
him worthy of standing in a niche by the side of 
Burns in the Scottish Pantheon. He has seen 
the rude instrument you describe, so does not 
want you to send it ; but wishes to know whether 
you believe it to have ever been generally used as 
a musical pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and 
when, and in what part of the country chiefly. 
I doubt much if it was capable of any thing but 
routing and roaring. A friend of mine says he 
remembers to have heard one in his younger days, 
made of wood instead of your bone, and that the 
sound was abominable. 

X)o not, I beseech you, return any books. 
17 3D 



( 386 ) 

No. 213. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

December, 1794*« 

JlT is, I assure you, the pride of my heart, 
to do any thing to forward, or add to the value of 
your book ; and as I agree with you that the Ja- 
cobite song in the Museum, to There'll never be 
peace till Jamie comes liame, would not so well 
consort with Peter Pindar's excellent love-song to 
that air, I have just framed for you the following : 

' Now in her green mantle bly the nature arrays,' &c. 

See Poems, p. 434. 

How does this please you ? As to the point of 
time, for the expression, in your proposed print 
from my Sodger's Return, it must certainly be at 
— *She gaz'd.' The interesting dubity and sus- 
pence taking possession of her countenance, and 
the gushing fondness with a mixture of roguish 
playfulness in his, strike me, as things of which a 
master will make a great deal. 

In great haste, but in great truth, yours. 



( 387 ) 

No. 214. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

January, 1795. 

JL FEAR for my songs; however a few 
may please, yet originality is a coy feature in 
composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the 
same style, disappears altogether. For these three 
thousand years, we poetic folks, have been de- 
scribing the spring, for instance; and as the 
spring continues the same, there must soon be a 
sameness in the imagery, &c. of these said rhyming 
folks. 

A great critic, Aikin, on songs, says, that love 
and wine are the exclusive themes for song-writing. 
The following is on neither subject and consequent- 
ly is no song ; but will be allowed, I think, to be 
two or three pretty good prose thoughts, inverted 
into rhyme. 

* Is there, for honest poverty/ &c.— -See Poems, p. 4/33. 

I do not give you the foregoing song for your 
book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle ; for 
the piece is not really poetry. How will the fol- 
lowing do for Craigie-burn- Wood f 

' Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn/ &c. — See Poems, p. 437. 

. Farewell ! God bless you. 



( 388 ) 

No. 215, 
MR, THOMSON TO MR. BURNS 

Edinburgh, 30th Jan. 1795. 

My dear Sir, 

J. THANK you heartily for Nannie's 
awa, as well as for Craigie-bur7i, which I think a 
very comely pair. Your observation on the diffi- 
culty of original writing in a number of efforts, in 
the same style, strikes me very forcibly ; and it 
has again and again excited my wonder to find 
you continually surmounting this difficulty, in 
the many delightful songs you have sent me. 
Your vive la bagatelle song, For a' that, shall 
undoubtedly be included in my list. 



No. 216. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON, 

February, 17.95. 

JljLeRE is another trial at your favourite 
air. 

* O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet/ &c. — See Poems, p. 441. 



* O tell na me o* wind and rain/ &c. — See Poems, p. 442. 

1 do not know whether it will do. 



( 389 ) 

No. 217. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Ecclefechan, Itk Feb. 1795. 

My dear Thomson, 

JL OU cannot have any idea of the pre- 
dicament in which I write to you. In the course 
of my duty as Supervisor (in which capacity 1 
have acted of late), I came yesternight to this un- 
fortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone for- 
ward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded 
my progress ; I have tried to ' gae back the gait 
I cam again,' but the same obstacle has shut me 
up within insuperable bars. To add to my mis- 
fortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing 
catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the 
dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a but- 
cher, and thinks himself, on that very account, 
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been 
in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these 
miseries ; or to hang myself, to get rid of them ; 
like a prudent man (a character congenial to my 
every thought, word, and deed), I, of two evils 
have chosen the least, and am, very drunk, at 
your service ?* 

I wrote to you yesterday from Dumfries. I 
had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say ; 
and heaven knows, at present I have not capacity. 

* The bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet 
Ecclefechan at this ratew 



( 390 ) 

Do you know an air — I am sure you must 
know it, We'll gang nae mair to yon town ? I 
think, in slowish time, it would make an excel- 
lent song. I am highly delighted with it ; and if 
you should think it worthy of your attention, I 
have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would 
consecrate it. 

As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good 
night. 



No. 218. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

9.5tk February, 1795. 

i HAV^E to thank you, my dear Sir, for 
two epistles, one containing Let me in this ae 
night; and the other Ecclefechan, proving, that 
drunk or sober, your 'mind is never muddy.' 
You have displayed great address in the above 
song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same 
time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise 
would have attached to his entreaties. I like the 
song as it now stands, very much. 

I had hopes you would be arrested some days 
at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the 
tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give 
me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for 
O wat ye wha's in yon town. 



( 391 ) 

No. 219. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

May, 1795. 

' O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 435. 

ijET me know, your very first leisure, 
how you like this song. 

' Can I cease to care/ &c. — See Poems, p. 436. 

How do you like the foregoing? The Irish 
air, Humours of Glen, is a great favourite cf 
mine ; and as, except the silly stuff in the Poor 
Soldier, there are not any decent verses for it, I 
have written for it as follows : 

* Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon/ &c. 

See Poevis, p. 440. 



'*Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin/ &c. 

Ses Poems, p. 411. 

Let me hear from you. 



No. 220. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

JL OU must not think, my good Sir, that 
I have any intention to enhance the value of my 



( 392 ) 

gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and 
worthy artist, that the design and execution of 
the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, 
one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. 
I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not 
quite pleased with it. 

The figure intended for your portrait, I think 
strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your 
phiz. This should make the piece interesting to 
your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs. 
Burns finds you out among the figures. 

I cannot express the feeling of admiration with 
which I have read your pathetic Address to the 
Wood-lark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, 
and your affecting verses on Chloris's illness. 
Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. 
The other song to ' Laddie, lie near me,' though 
not equal to these, is very pleasing. 



No. 221. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

How cruel are the parents,' &c. — See Poems, p. 438. 



* Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 444. 

▼T ELL! this is not amiss. You see 
how I answer your orders : your tailor could not 
be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit 
for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of 



( 393 ) 

criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or 
two administer a little of the intoxicating portion 
of your applause, it will raise your humble ser- 
vant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at 
this moment * holding high converse' with the 
Muses, and have not a word to throw away on 
such a prosaic dog as you are. 



No. 222. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Maj/, 1795. 

1 EN thousand thanks for your elegant 
present : though I am ashamed of the value of it, 
being bestowed on a man who has not by any 
means merited such an instance of kindness. I 
have shewn it to two or three judges of the first 
abilities here, and they all agree with me in class- 
ing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is sae 
kenspecMe, that the very joiner's apprentice whom 
Mrs. Burns employed to break up the parcel (I 
was out of town that day), knew it at once. — My 
most grateful compliments to Allan, who has 
honoured my rustic muse so much with his mas- 
terly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the 
little one who is making the felonious attempt on 
the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of an 
ill-deedie, d — n'd, wee, rinnhle-gairie, urchin of 
mine, whom, from that propensity to witty wick- 
edness, and manfu' mischief, which even at twa 

3 E 



( 394 ) 

days auld, I foresaw would form the striking fea- 
tures of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol, 
after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the 
masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall 
be nameless. 

Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued 
friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wed- 
nesday 1 go to visit a friend of his, to whom his 
friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner 
introduced me — I mean a well-known military 
and literary character, Colonel Dirom. 

You do not tell me how you liked my two last 
songs. Are they condemned ? 



No. 223. 
jMR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

ISthMmj, 1795. 

JLT gives me great pleasure to find that 
you are so well satisfied with Mr. Allan's pro- 
duction. The chance resemblance of your little 
fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so 
very early, and suggested whom he should be 
named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted 
with that person, who is a prodigy of learning 
and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no 
saint. 

You really make me blush when you tell me 
you have not merited the drawing from me. I 
do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently 



( 395 ) 

esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind 
manner in which you have entered into the spirit 
of my undertaking, which could not have been 
perfected without you. So I beg you would not 
make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation. 
I like your two last songs very much, and am 
happy to find you are in such a high fit of poet- 
izing. Long may it last ! Clarke has made a 
fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of 
William and Margaret, and is to give it to me, 
to be enrolled among the elect. 



No. 224. 
JMR BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

JIN Whistle, and Fll come to ye my lad, 
the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. 
Here goes what I think is an improvement : 

O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad ; 
O whistle, and Fll come to ye, my lad ; 
Tho' father, and motlier, and a* should gae mad, 
Thy Jeany will venture wi' ye, my lad. 

In fact, a fair dame at whose shrine I, the 
Priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Par- 
nassus ; a dame, whom the Graces have attired in 
witchcraft, and whom the loves have armed with 
lightning, a Fair One, herself the heroine of the 
song, insists on the amendment : and dispute hey 
commands if you dare ! 



( 396 ) 

' I see a form, I see a face/ &c. — See Poems, p. 445. 

Do you know that you have roused the torpid- 
ity of Clarke at last? He has requested me to 
write three or four songs for him, which he is to 
set to music himself. The enclosed sheet contains 
two songs for him, which please to present to my 
valued friend Cunningham. 

I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspec- 
tion, and that you may copy the song, O bonnie 
zvas yon rosy brier. I do not know whether I 
am right ; but that song pleases me, and as it is 
extremely probable that Clarke's newly roused 
celestial spark will be soon smothered in the fogs 
of indolence, if you like the song, it may go as 
Scottish verses, to the air of I wish my love was 
171 a mire ; and poor Erskine's English lines may 
follow. 

I enclose you, a For a' that and a' that, which 
was never in print ; it is a much superior song to 
mine. 1 have been told that it was composed by 
a lady. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

* Now spring has clad the grove in green/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 501. 

^ O bonnie was yon rosy brier/ &c. — See Poems, p. 50$. 



Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last 
edition of my poems, presented to the lady, whom, 
in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with 
the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I 
have so often sung under the name of Chloris. 



( 397 ) 

Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 506. 



No. 225. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Edifiburgk, 3d Aug. 1795. 

My dear Sir, 

X HIS will be delivered to you by a Dr. 
Brianton, who has read your works, and pants for 
the honour of your acquaintance. I do not know 
the gentleman, but his friend, wiio applied to me 
for this introduction, being an excellent young 
man, I have no doubt he is w^orthy of all accepta- 
tion. 

My eyes have just been gladdened, and my 
mind feasted, with your last packet — full of plea- 
sant things indeed. What an imagination is 
yours ! It is superfluous to tell you that I am de- 
lighted wdth all the three songs, as well as with 
your elegant and tender verses to Chloris. 

I am sorry you should be induced to alter O 
tvhistle, and Til come to ye, my lad, to the pro- 
saic line. Thy Jeany will venture wi' ye, my lad. 
I must be permitted to say, that 1 do not think 
the latter either reads or sings so well as the former. 
I wdsh, therefore, you would in my name petition 
the charming Jeany, w^ioever she be, to let the 
line remain unaltered. 

I should be happy to see Mr. Clarke produce a 
few airs to be joined to your verses. Every body 



( 398 ) 

regrets his writing so very little, as every body 
acknowledges his ability to write well. Pray was 
the resolution formed coolly before dinner, or was 
it a midnight vow, made over a bowl of punch 
with the bard ? 

I shall not fail to give Mr. Cunningham what 
you have sent him. 

P. S. The lady's For a' that and a' that, is sen- 
sible enough, but no more to be compared to 
yours than I to Hercules. 



No. 226. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

' Forlorn, my love, no comfort near/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 446. 

JHLOW do you like the foregoing? I 
have written it within this hour: so much for 
the speed of my Pegasus, but what say you to his 

bottom ? 



No. 227. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Lagt May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 438. 



( 399 ) 

' Why, why tell thy lover/ &c. — See Poems, p. 405. 

ISUCH is the peculiarity of the rhythm 
of this air, that I find it impossible to make ano- 
ther stanza to suit it. 

I am at present quite occupied with the charm- 
ing sensations of the tooth-ache, so have not a 
word to spare. 



No. 228. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

Sd June, 1795. 

My DEAR Sir, 

JL OUR English verses to Let me in this 
ae night, are tender and beautiful ; and your bal- 
lad to the ' Lothian Lassie,' is a master-piece for 
its humour and naivete. The fragment for the 
Caledonian Hunt is quite suited to the original 
measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the 
fragment must content it. I would rather, as I 
said before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it 
so pleased the poet; but, nevertheless, for what 
we have received. Lord make us thankful ! 



( 400 ) 

No. 229. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

5th February, I796. 

O Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet ? 
Or are ye wauking, I would wit ? 

A HE pause you have made, my dear 
Sir, is awful ! Am I never to hear from you 
again? I know and I lament how much you 
have been afflicted of late, but I trust that return- 
ing health and spirits will now enable you to re- 
sume the pen, and delight us with your musings. 
I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs 
that I wish 'married to immortal verse.' We 
have several true born Irishmen on the Scottish 
list ; but they are now naturalized, and reckoned 
our own good subjects. Indeed we have none 
better. I believe I before told you that I have 
been much urged by some friends to publish a 
collection of all our favourite airs and songs in 
octavo, embellished with a number of etchings by 
our ingenious friend Allan ;— what is your opinion 
of this? 



( 401 ) 



No. 230. 
JMR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

February J 1796. 

JVIaNY thanks, my dear Sir, for your 

handsome, elegant present, to Mrs. B , and 

for my remaining vol. of P. Pindar. — Peter is a 
delightful fellow, and a first favourite of mine. I 
am mtrch pleased with your idea of publishing a 
t3ollection of our songs in octavo, with etchings. 
I am extremely willing to lend every assistance 
in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully 
undertake the task of finding verses for. 

I have already, you know, equipt three with 
words, and the other day I strung up a kind of 
rhapsody to another Hibernian melody, which I 
admire much, 

* Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms/ &c. 

See Poems J p. 448. 

If this will do, you have now four of my Irish 
engagement. In my by-past songs I dislike one 
thing; the name of Chloris — I meant it as the 
fictitious name of a certain lady : but, on second 
thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have a Greek 
appellation to a Scottish pastoral ballad. — Of this, 
and some things else, in my next : I have more 
amendments to propose. — What you once men- 
tioned of 'flaxen locks' is just; they cannot enter 
into an elegant description of beauty. Of this 
also again — God bless you ! 

3 F 



( 402 ) 

No. 231. 
MR, THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

JL OUR Hey for a lass wi' a tocher , is a 
most excellent song, and with you the subject is 
something new indeed. It is the first time I have 
seen you debasing the god of soft desire, into an 
amateur of acres and guineas. — 

I am happy to find you approve of my pro- 
posed octavo edition. Allan has designed and 
etched about twenty plates, and I am to have my 
choice of them for that work. Independently of 
the Hogarthian humour with which they abound, 
they exhibit the character and costume of the 
Scottish peasantry with inimitable felicity. In 
this respect, he himself says, they will far exceed 
the aquatinta plates he did for the Gentle Shep- 
herd, because in the etching he sees clearly what 
he is doing, but not so with the aquatinta, which 
he could not manage to his mind. 

The Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more 
characteristic and natural than the Scottish figures 
in those etchings. 



( 403 ) 

No. 232. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

April, 1796. 

Alas, my dear Thomson, I fear it will 
be some time ere I tune my lyre again ! * By Ba- 
bel streams 1 have sat and wept,' almost ever 
since I wrote you last : I have only known exist- 
ence by the pressure of the heavy hand of sick- 
ness, and have counted time by the repercussions 
of pain ! Rheumatism, cold, and fever, have 
formed to me a terrible combination. I close my 
eyes in misery, and open them without hope, I 
look on the vernal day, and say, with poor Fer- 
guson — 

' Say wherefore has an all indulgent heaven 
Light to the comfortless and wretched given ?' 

This will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, 
landlady of the Globe Tavern here, which for 
these many years has been my hovoff, and where 
our friend Clarke and I have had many a meriy 
squeeze. I am highly delighted with Mr. Allan's 
etchings. Wodd and married an' a\ is admirable. 
The grouping is beyond all praise. The expres- 
sion of the figures, conformable to the story in 
the ballad, is absolutely faultless perfection. I 
next admire, Turnim-spike. What I like least 
is, Jenny said to Jockey. Besides the female 
being in her appearance ***** if you take her 
stooping into the account, she is at least two inches 



( 404 ) 

taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn ! I sincerely 
sympathize with him ! Happy I am to think 
that he has yet a well grounded hope of health 
and enjoyment in this world. As for me — but 
that is a * * * * * subject ! 



No. 233, 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

UhMay, 1796. 

X NEED not tell you, my good Sir, 
what concern the receipt of your last gave me, 
and how much I sympathize in your sufferings. 
But do not, I beseech you, give yourself up to 
despondency, nor speak the language of despair. 
The vigour of your constitution, 1 trust, will 
soon set you on your feet again ; and then it is to 
be hoped you will see the wisdom and the neces-^ 
sity of taking due care of a life so valuable to your 
family, to your friends, and to the world. 

Trusting that your next will bring agreeable 
accounts of your convalescence, and returning 
good spirits, I remain with sincere regard, yours. 

P. S. Mrs. Hyslop, 1 doubt not, delivered the 
gold seal to you in good condition. 



( 405 ) 



No. 234. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON, 

My dear Sir, 

1 ONCE mentioned to you an air which 
1 have long admired — Here's a health to them 
that's awa, hiney, but I forget if you took any 
notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it 
with verses; and I beg leave to recommend the 
air to your attention once more. I have only be- 
gun it. 

* Although thou maun never be mine/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 449. 



No. 235. 
MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

X HIS will be delivered by a Mr. Lewars,. 
a young fellow of uncommon merit. As he will 
be a day or two in town, you will have leisure, if 
you choose, to write me by him ; and if you 
have a spare half hour to spend with him, I shall 
place your kindness to my account. I have no 
copies of the songs I have sent you, and I have 
taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly 
inay mend some of them ; so, when you have 
complete leisure, I will thank you for either the 



( 406 ) 

originals or copies * I had rather be the author 
of five well- written songs, than of ten, otherwise. 
I have great hopes that the genial influence of the 
approaching summer will set me to rights, but as 
yet I cannot boast of returning health. I have 
now reason to believe that my complaint is a fly- 
ing gout : — a sad business. 

Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and remem- 
ber me to him. 

This should have been delivered to you a month 
ago. I am still very poorly, but should like much 
to hear from you. 



No. 236. 
xMR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 

Bro7V, on the Sohvay Frith, I2tk July, 1796. 

After all my boasted independence, 
curst necessity compels me to implore you for Ave 
pounds, A cruel ^' * * * * of a haberdasher, to 
whom I owe an account, taking it into his head 
that I am dying, has commenced a process and 
will infallibly put me into jail. Do, for God's 
sake, send me that sum, and that by return of 
post. Forgive me this earnestness, but the hor- 
rors of a jail have made me half distracted. I do 
not ask all this gratuitously ; for, upon returning 
health, 1 hereby promise and engage to furnish 

* It is needless to say, that this revisal Burrs did not live 
to perform. 



( 407 ) 

you with five pounds' worth of the neatest song 
genius you have seen. I tried my hand on Ro- 
thiemurche this morning. The measure is so dif- 
ficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius 
into the lines ; they are on the other side. For- 
give, forgive me ! 

' Full well thou know'st I love thee dear/ &c.* 

See PoemSy p. 443. 



No. 237. 
MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 

lUhJuly, 1796. 

My dear Sir, 

JciVER since I received your melancholy 
letter, by Mrs. Hyslop, I have been ruminating 
in what manner I could endeavour to alleviate 
your sufferings. Again and again I thought of a 
pecuniary offer, but the recollection of one of your 
letters on this subject, and the fear of offending 
your independent spirit, checked my resolution. 
I thank you heartily therefore for the frankness 
of your letter of the 12th, and with great pleasure 

* These verses and the letter enclosing them, are written in 
a character that marks the feeble state of Burns's bodily strength. 
Mr. Syme is of opinion that he could not have been in any dan- 
ger of a jail at Dumfries, where certainly he had many firm 
friends, nor under any such necessity of imploring aid from 
Edinburgh. But about this time his reason began to be at 
times unsettled, and the horrors of a jail perpetually haunted 
his imagination. He died on the 21st of this month. 



( 408 ) 

enclose a draft for the very sum I proposed send- 
ing. Would I were Chancellor of the Exchequer 
but for one day, for your sake ! 

Pray, my good Sir, is it not possible for you to 
muster a volume of poetry? If too much trouble 
to you in the present state of your health, some 
literary friend might be found here, who would 
select and arrange from your manuscripts, and 
take upon him the task of Editor. In the mean 
time it could be advertised to be published 
by subscription. Do not shun this mode of ob- 
taining the value of your labour : remember Pope 
published the Iliad by subscription. Think of 
this, my dear Burns, and do not reckon me in- 
trusive with my advice. You are too well con- 
vinced of the respect and friendship I bear you, 
to impute any thing I say to an unworthy motive. 
Youi-s faithfully. 

The verses to Rothiemurche will answer finely. 
1 am happy to see you can still tune your lyre. 



No. 338. 
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH 

Mossgiel, Feb. 17th, 1786. 

My dear Sir, 

JL have not time at present to upbraid 
you for your silence and neglect ; I shall only say 
I received yours with great pleasure. I have en- 
closed you a piece of rhyming ware for your peru- 
sal, I have been very busy with the muses since 



( 409 ) 

I saw you, and have composed, among several 
others, The Ordination, a poem, on Mr. M*Kin- 
lay's being called to Kilmarnock ; Scotch Drink, 
a poem; The Cotie?''s Saturday Night; An Ad- 
dress to the Devil, ^c, I have likewise completed 
my poem on the Dogs, but have not shewn it to 
the world. My chief patron now is Mr. Aikin in 
Ayr, who is pleased to express great approbation 
of my works. Be so good as send me Ferguson, 
by Connel,* and I will remit you the money. I 
have no news to acquaint you with about Mauch- 
line, they are just going on in the old way. I 
have some very important news with respect to 
myself, not the most agreeable, news that I am 
sure you cannot guess, but I shall give you the 
particulars another time. I am extremely happy 
with Smith ;f he is the only friend I have nozv in 
Mauchline. I can scarcely forgive your long neg- 
lect of me, and I beg you will let me hear from 
you regularly by Connel. If you would act your 
part as a friend, I am sure neither good nor bad 
fortune should strange or- alter me. Excuse haste, 
as I got yours but yesterday. — T am, 

Mv dear Sir, Yours, 
ROBERT BURNESS.i 



* Connel, the Mauchline carrier. 

t Mr. James Smith, then a shop-keeper in MauchHne. It 
was to this young man that Burns addressed one of his finest 

performances — ' To J. S ' beginning 

' Dear S , the sleesf, paukie, thief.' 

He died in the West Indies. 

% This is the only letter the Editor has met with in which 
tlie Poet adds the termination ess to his name, as his Father 
and family had spelled it. 

18 3 G 



( 410 ) 

No. 239. 
TO MR. M'W IE, WRITER, AYR. 

Mossgielj 17th April, 1786. 

JLt is injuring some hearts, those hearts 
that elegantly bear the impression of the good 
Creator, to say to them you give them the trou- 
ble of obliging a friend ; for this reason, I only 
tell you tliat I gratify my oxiii feeling in request- 
ing your friendly offices with respect to the in- 
closed, because I know it will gratify yours to as- 
sist me in it to the utmost of your power. 

I have sent you four copies, as I have no less 
than eight dozen, which is a great deal more than 
I shall ever need. 

Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in 
your prayers. He looks forward with fear and 
trembling to that, to him, important moment 
which stamps the die with — with — with, perhaps 
the eternal disgrace of, 

My dear Sir, 
Your humble, afflicted, tormented 

ROBERT BURNS. 



( 411 ) 

No. 240. 
TO MONS. JAMES SMITH, MAUCHLINE. 

Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786. 

My dear Sir, 

I WENT to Dr. Douglas yesterday, 
fully resolved to take the opportunity of Captain 
Smith ; but I found the Doctor witli a Mr. and 
Mrs. White, both Jamaicans, and they have de- 
ranged my plans altogether. They assure him, 
that to send me from Savannah la ]Mar to Port 
Antonio will cost my master, Charles Douglas. 
upwards of fifty pounds ; besides running the risk 
of throwing myself into a pleuritic fever, in con- 
sequence of hard travelling in the sun. On these 
accounts, lie refuses sending me with Smith, but 
a vessel sails from Greenock the first of September 
right for the place of my destination. The Cap- 
tain of her is an intimate of ^Ir. Gavin Hamilton's, 
and as good a fellow as heart could wish : with 
him I am destined to go. Where I shall shelter, 
I know not, but I hope to weather the storm. 
Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them ! 
I know their worst, and am prepared to meet it. — 

I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg. 
As lang's I dov/. 

On Thursday morning, if you can muster as 
much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven 



( 412 ) 

o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to Cum- 
nock. After all, Heaven bless the sex ! I feel 
there is still happiness for me among them. — 

O woman, lovely woman ! Heaven designer! you 
To temper man ! we had been brutes without you ! 



No. 241. 
TO MR. DAV ID BRICE. 

Mossgielj June 12tk, 1786. 

Dear Brice, 

I RECEIVED your message by G. Pa- 
terson, and as I am not very throng at present, I 
just write to let you know that there is such a 
worthless, rhyming, reprobate, as your humble 
servant, still in the land of the living, though I 
can scarcely say, in the place of hope. I have no 
news to tell you that will give me any pleasure to 
mention or you to hear. 

* * ^ ^ •3if * 

And now for a grand cure; the ship is on her 
way home that is to take me out to Jamaica ; and 
then, farewell dear old Scotland, and farewell dear, 
ungrateful Jean; for never, never will I see you 
more. 

You will have heard that I am going to com- 
mence Poet in print; and to-morrow my works 
go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of 
about two hundred pages — it is just the last fool- 



( 4.13 ) 

ish action I intend to do ; and then turn a wise 
man as fast as possible. 

Believe me to be, 

Dear Brice, 
Your friend and well-wisher. 



No. 242. 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. MAUCHLINE. 

Edinburgh, 'Jtk Dec. 1786. 

Honoured Sir, 

A HAVE paid every attention to 3^our 
commands, but can only say, what perhaps you 
will have heard before this reach you, that Muir- 
kirklands were bought by a John Gordon, W. S. 
but for whom I know not ; Mauchlands, Haugh 
Miln, &c. by a Frederick Fotheringham, sup- 
posed to be for Ballochmyle Laird, and Adam- 
hill and Shawood w^ere brought for Oswald's folks. 
— This is so imperfect an account, and will be so 
late ere it reach you, that were it not to discharge 
my conscience I would not trouble you with it ; 
but after all my diligence I could make it no 
sooner nor better. 

For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of be- 
coming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John 
Bunyan ; and you may expect henceforth to see 
my birth- day inserted among the wonderful events, 
in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen Almanacks, 
along with the Black IMonday, and the battle of 



( 414 ) 

Bothwel bridge. — My lord Glencairn and the 
Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, have taken me 
under their wing; and by all probability I shall 
soon be the tenth worthy, and the eighth wise 
man of the world. Through my lord's influence 
it is inserted in the records of the Caledonian hunt, 
that they universally, one and all, subscribe for 
the 2d edition. — My subscription bills come out 
to-morrow, and vou shall have some of them next 
post. — I have met in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orange- 
field, v» hat Solomon emphatically calls, ' A friend 
that sticketh closer than a brother.' — The warmth 
with which he interests himself in my affairs is of 
the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr. Aiken, 
and the few patrons that took notice of my earlier 
poetic days, shewed for the poor unlucky devil of 
a poet. 

I always remember Mrs. Hamilton and Miss 
Kennedy in my poetic prayers, but you both in 
prose and verse. 

May cauld ne'er catch you but a hap. 
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap i 

Amen ! 



( 415 ) 

No. 243. 
TO DR. MCKENZIE, MAUCHLINE. 

Inclosing Mm the Extempore Verses on dining with lord 

Doer. 

Wednesday Morning. 

Dear Sir, 

i NEVER spent an afternoon among 
great folks with half that pleasure as when, in 
company with you, I had tlie honour of paying 
my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, 
the professor.^ I would be delighted to see him 
perform acts of kindness and friendship, though I 
w^ere not the object; he does it with such a grace. 
I think his character, divided into ten parts, stands 
thus — four parts Socrates — four parts Nathaniel — 
and two parts Shakespeare's Brutus. 

The foregoing vei-ses were really extempore but 
a little corrected since. They may entertain you 
a little with the help of that partiality with which 
you are so good as favour the performances of, 
Dear Sir, 

Your very humble Servant. 

* Professor Dugald Ste-wavt. 



( 416 ) 

No. 244. 
TO J. BALLANTINE, ESQ. BANKER, AYR. 

Edinburgh, IStk Bee. 1786. 

My honoured Friend, 

r WOULD not write you till I could 
have it in my "power to give you some account of 
myself and my matters, which by the bye is often 
no easy task. — I arrived here on Tuesday was 
se'nnight and have suffered ever since I came to 
town with a miserable head-ache and stomach 
complaint, but am now a good deal better. — I 
have found a worthy warm friend in Mr. Dal- 
rymple, of Orangefield, who introduced me to 
lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and brotherly 
kindness to me, I shall remember when time shall 
be no more. — By his interest it is passed in the 
Caledonian hunt, and entered in their books, that 
they are to take each a copy of the second edition, 
for which they are to pay one guinea. — I have 
been introduced to a good many of the Noblesse, 
but my avowed patrons and patronesses are, the 
duchess of Gordon — The countess of Glencairn, 
with my lord and lady Betty* — The Dean of 
Faculty — Sir John Whiteford. — I have likewise 
warm friends among the Literati; professors 
Stewart, Blair, and Mr. M'Kenzie — the Man of 
Feeling. — An unknown hand left ten guineas for 
the Ayrshire bard with Mr. Sibbald, which I got. 

* Lady Betty Cunningham. 



( 417 ) 

— I since have discovered my generous unknown 
friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq. brother to the 
Justice Clerk ; and drank a glass of claret with 
him by invitation at his ow^n house yesternight. 
I am nearly agreed with Creech to print my book, 
and I suppose I will begin on Monday. I will 
send a subscription bill or tv/o, next post ; ^vhen 
I intend writing my first kind patron, Mr. Aiken. 
I saw his son to day and he is very well. 

Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned 
friends, put me in the periodical paper called the 
Lounger,* a copy of which I here enclose you. — 
I was, Sir, when I was first honoured with your 
notice, too obscure ; now I tremble lest I should 
be ruined by being dragged too suddenly into the 
glare of polite and learned observation. 

I shall certainly, my ever honoured patron, 
write you an account of my every step; and 
better health and more spirits may enable me to 
make it something better than this stupid matter 
of fact epistle. 

I have the honour to be. 
Good Sir, 
Your ever grateful humble servant. 

If any of my friends write me, my direction is 
— care of Mr. Creech, bookseller. 

* The paper here alluded to^ was ^^Titten by Mr. M'Kenzie* 
the celebrated author of the Man of Feeling. 

3 H 



( 418 ; 

No. ^45. 
TO MR. WM. CHALMERS, WRITER, AYR. 
Edinburgh, Dec. 21th, 1786, 

My dear Friend, 

I CONFESS I have sinned the sin for 
which there is hardly any forgiveness — ingratitude 
to friendship — in not writing you sooner ; but of 
all men living, 1 had intended to send you an en- 
tertaining letter; and by all the plodding, stupid 
powers, that in nodding, conceited majesty, pre- 
side over the dull routine of business — a heavily- 
solemn oath this ! — I am, and have been, ever 
since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write a 
letter of humour, as to write a commentary on 
the Revelation of St. John the Divine, who was 
banished to the Isle of Patmos, by the cruel and 
bloody Domitian, son to Vespasian, and brother 
to Titus, both emperors of Home, and who was 
himself an emperor, and raised the second or tliird 
persecution, I forget which against the Christians ; 
and after throwing the said apostle John, brother 
to the apostle .James, commonly called James the 
greater, to distinguish him from another James, 
who was, on some account or other, known by 
the name of James the less, after throwing him 
into a caldron of boiling oil, froui which he was 
miraculously preserved, he banished the poor son 
of Zehedee to a desert island in the Archipelago, 
v/here he was gifted with the second sight, and 



( 419 } 

saw as many wild beasts as I have seen since I 
came to Edinburgh ; which, a circumstance not 
very uncommon in story-telling, brings me back 
to where I set out. 

To make you some amends for what, before 
you reach this paragraph, you will have suffered ; 
I enclose you two poems I have carded and spun 
since I past Glenbuck. 

One blank in the address to Edinburgh — * Fair 

B ,' is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to lord 

Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour 
to be more than once. 

There has not been any thing nearly like her, 
in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and 
goodness, the Great Creator has formed, since 
jMilton's Eve on the first day of her existence. 

My direction is — care of Andrew Bruce, mer- 
chant, Bridge-street. 



No. 246. 
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, ESQ. 

Edinburgh, Jan^ IMh, 178?. 

My honoured Friend, 

AT gives me a secret comfort to observe 
in myself that I am not yet so far gone as Willie 
Gaw's Skate, * past redemption ;' for I have still 
this favourable symptom of grace, that when my 
conscience, as in the case of this letter, tells me I 
am leaving something undone tliat I ought to do, 
it teazes me eternally till I do it. 



( 420 ) 

I am still *dark as was Chaos' in respect to 
futurity. My generous friend, Mr. Patrick Mil- 
ler, lias been talking with me about a lease of 
some farm or other in an estate called Dalswinton, 
which he has lately bought near Dumfries. Some 
life-rented embittering recollections whisper me 
that I will be happier any where than in my old 
neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller is no judge of 
land ; and though 1 dare say he means to favour 
me, yet he may give me, in his opinion, an ad- 
vantageous bargain, that may ruin me. I am to 
take a tour by Dumfries, as I return, and have 
promised to meet Mr. Miller on his lands some 
time in May. 

I w^ent to a mason-lodge yesternight, where 
the most Worshipful-Grand Master Charters, and 
all the Grand-Lodge of Scotland visited — The 
meeting was numerous and elegant; all the dif- 
ferent lodges about town were present, in all their 
pomp. The grand master, who presided with 
great solemnity and honour to himself, as a gen- 
tleman and mason, among other general toasts 
gave * Caledonia, and Caledonia's bard, brother 

E ;' w^hich rung through the whole assembly 

with multiplied honours and repeated acclama- 
tions. As I had no idea such a thing would 
happen, I was downright thunderstruck, and 
trembling in every nerve made the best return in 
my power. Just as I had finished, some of the 
grand officers said, so loud that I could hear, 
with a most comforting accent, ' Very well in- 
deed !' which set me something to rights again. 



( 421 ) 

1 have to-day corrected my 152nd page. My 
best good wishes to Mr. Aiken. 
I am ever, 
Dear Sir, 
Your much indebted humble Servant. 



No. 247. 
TO THE SAME. 



WW HILE here I sit, sad and solitar}^ by 
the side of a fire in a little country inn, and dry- 
ing my wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of a 
sodger and tells me be is going to Ayr. By hea- 
vens ! say I to myself, with a tide of good spirits 
which the magic of that sound, Auld Toon o' 
Ayr, conjured up, I will send my last song to 
Mr. Ballantine. — Here it is — 

' Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon/ &c. — Sec Poems, p. 479. 



No. 248. 

TO THE SAME, 



Edinburgh, Feb. 9,Uh, 178?. 

My HONouiiED Friend, 

X WILL soon be with you now in guid 
black pre7it ; in a week or ten days at farthest — I 
am obliged, against my own wish, to print sub- 



( 422 ) 

scribers' names, so if any of my Ayr friends have 
subscription bills, they must be sent in to Creech 
directly. — I am getting my phiz done by an emi- 
nent engraver ; and if it can be ready in time, I 
will appear in my books, looking like other fools 
to my title page. 

I have the honour to be. 

Ever your grateful, &c. 



No. 249. 
TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH, 

STUDENT IN PHYSIC, COLLEGE, GLASGOW. 

Edinburgh, March 9,1 st, 1787- 

My ever dear old Acquaintance, 

X WAS equally surprised and pleased at 
your letter; though 1 dare say you will think by 
my delaying so long to write to you, that I am 
so drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as 
to be indifferent to old and once dear connections. 
The truth is, I was determined to write a good 
letter, full of argument amplification, erudition, 
and, as Bayes says, all that. I thought of it, and 
thought of it, but for my soul I cannot: and lest 
you should mistake the cause of my silence, 1 just 
sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself 
credit thougli, that the strength of your logic 
scares me: the truth is, I never mean to meet 
YOU on that ground at all. You have shewn me 



( 423 ) 

one thing, which was to be demonstrated; that 
strong pride of reasoning, with a little affectation 
of singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I, 
likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, 
in the pride of despising old women's stories, ven- 
tured in ' the daring path Spinosa trod ;' but ex- 
perience of the weakness, not the strength, of 
human powers, made me glad to grasp at reveal- 
ed religion. 

I must stop, but don't impute my brevity to a 
wrong cause. I am still, in the apostle Paul's 
phrase, *The old man with his deeds,' as v/hen 
we were sporting about the lady thorn. 1 shall 
be four weeks here yet, at least ; and so I shall 
expect to hear from you — welcome sense, wel- 
come nonsense. 

I am, with the warmest sincerity, 

My dear old friend, Yours. 



No. 250. 

TO THE SAME. 

My dear Friend, 

XF once I were gone through tliis scene 
of hurry and dissipation, 1 promise myself the 
pleasure of that correspondence being renewed 
which has been so long broken. At present I 
have time for nothing. Dissipation and business 
engross every moment. I am engaged in assist- 
ing an honest Scots enthusiast, a friend of mine, 



( 424 ) 

who is an engraver, and has taken it into his head 
to publish a collection of all our songs set to music, 
of which the words and music are done by Scots- 
men. This, you will easily guess, is an under- 
taking exactly to my taste. I have collected, 
begged, borrowed, and stolen all the songs I 
could meet with. Pompey's Ghost, words and 
music, I beg from you immediately, to go into 
his second number : the first is already published. 
I shall shew you the first number when I see you 
in Glasgow, which will be in a fortnight or less. 
Do be so kind as send me the song in a day or 
two : you cannot imagine how much it will oblige 
me. 

Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruikshank's, St. 
James's Square, New Town, Edinburgh. 



No. 251. 

TO WM. CREECH, ESQ. (OF EDINBURGH), 
LONDON. 

Selkirk, \3tk May, 1787. 

My HONOURED Friend, 

1 HE inclosed I have just wrote, nearly 
extempore, in a solitary Inn, in Selkirk, after a 
miserable wet day's riding. — T have been over 
most of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and 
Selkirkshires ; and next week I begin a tour 
through the north of England, Yesterday I dined 



( 425 ) 

-with lady Hariot, sister to my noble patron,* 
Quem Deus conservet ! I would write till I would 
tire you as much with dull prose as I dare say by 
this time you are with wTetched verse, but I am 
jaded to death ; so, with a grateful farewell, 
I have the honour to be. 

Good Sir, yours sincerely. 

' Auld chuckie Reekie's sair distrest/ &c. — See Poems, p. S2Q. 



No. 252. 

TO MR. W. NICOL, 

MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. 

Carlisle, June 1st, 1787. 

Kind honest-hearted Willie, 

X'M sitten down here, after seven and 
forty miles ridin, e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd 
as a forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion o' 
my land-lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' 
hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi' mild 
Reekie. 

My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchy- 
all'd up hill and down brae, in Scotland and Eng- 
land, as teugh and birnie as a verra devil wi' me.f 

* James eai'l of Glencairn. 

t This mare was the Poet's favourite Jenny Geddes, of whom 
honourable and most humourous mention is made in a letter, in- 
serted in a former part of this work. 

This old and faithful servant of the Poet's was named by liira, 
after the old woman, who in her zeal against religious innova- 

3 I 



( 426 ) 

It's true, she's as poor's a sang maker and as hard's 
a kirk, and tipper-taipers when she taks the gate, 
first like a lady's gentlewoman in a minuwae, or 
a hen on a het girdle, but she's a yauld, poutherie 
Girran for a' that, and has a stomack like Willie 
Stalker's meere that wad hae disgeested tumbler- 
wheels, for she'll whip me afFher five stimparts o' 
the best aits at a down-sittin and ne'er fash her 
thumb. When ance her ringbanes and spa vies, 
her crucks and cramps, are fairly soupl'd, she 
beets to, beets to, and ay the hindmost hour the 
tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty 
pennies, that, for twa or three wooks ridin at fifty 
mile a day, the deil-sticket a five galloppers ac- 
queesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut on 
her tail. 

I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dumbar 
to Selcraig, and hae forgather'd wi' mony a guid 
fallow and monie a weelfar'd hizzie. I met wi' 
twa dink quines in particular, ane o' them a 
sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw and bonnie ; 
the tither was a clean-shankit, straught, tight, 
weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a 

tion, threw a stool at the dean of Edinburgh's head, when he 
attempted, in l637, to introduce the Scottish LiUirgy. 'On 
Sunday, the twenty-third of July, the dean of Edinburgh pre- 
pared to officiate in St. Giles's. The congregation continued 
quiet till the service began, when an old woman, impelled by 
sudden indignation, started up, and exclaiming aloud, ' Villain ! 
dost thou say the Mass at my lug !' threw the stool on which 
she had been sitting, at the dean's head. A wild uproar com- 
menced that instant. The service was interrupted. The wo- 
men invaded the desk, with execrations and outcries, and the 
dean disengaged himself from his surplice to escape from their 
hands.' — Laing's History of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 122. 



( 427 ) 

flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new 
blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were 
baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane 
o' them had as muckle smeddum and rumblgum- 
tion as the half o' some presbytries that you and I 
baith ken. They play'd me sik a deevil o' a 
shavie that I daur say if my harigals were turn'd 
out, ye wad see twa nicks i' the heart o' me like 
the mark o' a kail-whittle in a castock. 

I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but, 
Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae notouriously 
bitchify'd the day after kail-time that I can hardly 
stoiter but and ben. 

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our 
common friens, especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruik- 
shank and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge. 

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to 
the fore, and the branks bide hale. 

Gude be wi' you, Willie ! 

Amen ! — 



No. 253. 
TO THE SAME. 

Mauckline, June \8th, 1787- 

My dear Friend, 

M. AM now arrived safe in my native 
country, after a very agreeable jaunt, and have 
the pleasure to find all my friends well. I break- 
fasted with your grey-headed, reverend friend. 



( 428 ) 

Mr. Smith ; and was highly pleased, both with 
the cordial welcome he gave me, and his most 
excellent appearance and sterling good sense. 

I have been with ]Mr. Miller at Dalswinton^ 
and am to meet him again in August. From my 
view of the lands and his reception of my bard-^ 
ship, my hopes in that business are rather mend- 
ed ; but still they are but slender. 

I am quite charmed with Dumfries folks — Mr^ 
Buniside, the clergyman, in particular, is a man 
whom I shall ever gratefully remember ; and his 
wife, Gude forgie me, I had almost broke the 
tenth commandment on her account. Simplicity, 
elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition, 
good humour, kind hospitality, are the consti- 
tuents of her manner and heart ; in short — but if 
I say one word more about her, I shall be directly 
in Jove with her. 

I never, my friend, thought mankind very 
capable of any thing generous ; but the stateliness 
of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the servility 
of my plebeian brethren, (who perhaps formerly 
eyed me askance), since I returned home, have 
nearly put me out of conceit altogether with my 
species. I have bought a pocket Milton which I 
carry perpetually about with me, in order to study 
the sentiments — the dauntless magnanimity; the 
intrepid, unyielding independence, the desperate 
daring, and noble defiance of hardship, in that 
great personage, Satan, 'Tis true, I have just 
now a little cash; but I am afraid the star that 
hitherto has shed its mahgnant, purpose-blasting 
rays full in my zenith ; that noxious planet so 
bnneful in its influences to the rhyming tribe, I 



{ 429 ) 

much dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. — 
Misfortune dodges the path of human life; the 
poetic mind finds itself miserably deranged in^ 
and unfit for the walks of business; add to all, 
that, thoughtless follies and hair-brained whims, 
like so many ignesfatui, eternally diverging from 
the right line of sober discretion, sparkle with 
step- bewitching blaze in the idly-gazing eyes of 
the poor heedless bard, till, pop * he falls like Lu- 
cifer, never to hope again.' God grant this may 
be an unreal picture with respect to me ! but 
should it not, I have very little dependence on 
mankind. I will close my letter with this tribute 
my heart bids me pay you — the many ties of ac- 
quaintance and friendship which I have, or think 
I have in life, I have felt along the lines, and, 
d — n them ! they are almost all of them of such 
frail contexture, that I am sure they would not 
stand the breath of the least adverse breeze of for- 
tune; but from you, my ever dear Sir, I look 
with confidence for the apostolic love that shall 
wait on me ' through good report and bad report,' 
— the love which Solomon emphatically says, ' Is 
strong as death.' My compliments to IVIrs. Nicol, 
and all the circle of our common friends. 

P. S. 1 shall be in Edinburgh about the latter 
end of July. 



( 430 ) 

No. 254. 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Stirling, 28tk August, 1787- 

My dear Sir, 

JtXERE am I on my way to Inverness, 
I have rambled over the rich, fertile carses of Fal- 
kirk and Stirling, and am delighted with their ap- 
pearance: richly waving crops of wheat, barley, 
&iC. but no harvest at all yet, except in one or 
two places, an old wife's ridge. — Yesterday morn- 
ing I rode from this town up the meandring 
Devon's banks to pay my respects to some Ayr- 
shire folks at Harvieston. After breakfast, we 
made a party to go and see the famous Caudron- 
linn, a remarkable cascade in the Devon about 
five miles above Harvieston; and after spending 
one of the most pleasant days I ever had in my 
life, I returned to Stirling in the evening. They 
are a family. Sir, though I had not had any prior 
tie; though they had not been the brother and 
sisters of a certain generous friend of mine, I 
would never forget them. I am told you have 
not seen them these several years, so you can 
have very little idea of what these young folks 
are now. Your brother is as tall as you are, but 
slender rather than otherwise; and I have the 
satisfaction to inform you that he is getting the 
better of those consumptive symptoms which I 
suppose you know were threatening him. His 



JAXXS OF]FY]E]RS = 





H|^ 






^1 




iiSH 




1 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Btj^I^s^^E^^^^^^^^^^I 


^^^^^^H 1 


1 ^■^^■^V ^ l^^^^H 


■ 


[l, 


BI^^^IHBI i 






£rt^ravri£/^/*.A^r'Af/tzr^r ti'^^nid £^^itiifn 



( 431 ) 

make, and particularly his manner, resemble you, 
but he will still have a finer face. (1 put in the 
word still, to please Mrs. Hamilton.) Good sense, 
modesty, and at the same time a just idea of that 
respect that man owes to man, and has a right in 
his turn to exact, are striking features in his cha- 
racter; and, what with me is the Alpha and the 
Omega he has a heart might adorn the breast of a 
poet ! Grace has a good figure and the look of 
health and cheerfulness, but nothing else remark- 
able in her person. I scarcely ever saw so striking 
a likeness as is between her and your little Been- 
nie ; the mouth and chin particularly. She is re- 
served at first ; but as we grew better acquainted, 
I was delighted with the native frankness of her 
manner, and the sterling sense of her observation. 
Of Charlotte, I cannot speak in common terms of 
admiration : she is not only beautiful, but lovely. 
Her form is elegant ; her features not regular, but 
they have the smile of sweetness and the settled 
complacency of good nature in the highest degree : 
and her complexion, now that she has happily re- 
covered her wonted health, is equal to Miss Bur- 
net's. After the exercise of our riding to the 
Falls, Charlotte was exactly Dr. Donne's mistress. 



■' Here pure and eloquent blood 



Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, 
That oi.>. would almost say her body thought/ 

Her eyes are fascinating; at once expressive of 
good sense, ter ierness, and a noble mind. 

I do not giv you all this account, my good 
Sir, to flatter y u. I mean it to reproach you. 
Such relations tl. ? first peer in the realm might 



( 432 ) 

own with pride ; then why do you not keep up 
more correspondence with these so amiable young 
folks ? I had a thousand questions to answer about 
you all : I had to describe the little ones with the 
minuteness of anatomy. They were highly de- 
lighted when I told them that John* was so good 
a boy, and so fine a scholar, and that Willie was 
going on still very pretty ; but I have it in com- 
mission to tell her from them that beauty is a poor 
silly bauble without she be good. Miss Chalmers 
I had left in Edinburgh, but I had the pleasure 
of meeting with Mrs. Chalmer, only lady M*Ken- 
zie being rather a little alarmingly ill of a sore 
throat somewhat marr'd our enjoyment. 

I shall not be in Ayrshire for four weeks. My 
most respectful compliments to Mrs. Hamilton, 
Miss Kennedy, and Doctor M'Kenzie. 1 shall 
probably write him from some stage or other. 
I am ever. Sir, 

Yours most gratefully. 



^ No. ^55. 
TO MISS MARGARET CHALMERS, 

(NOW MRS. HAY, OF EDINBURGH.J 

September 26th, 1787- 

I SEND Charlottle the first number of 
the songs ; I would not wait for the second num- 

* This is the ' jvee curlie Johnnie,' mentioned in Burns's de- 
dication to Gavin Hamilton^ esq. 



( 433 ) 

ber; I hate delays in little marks of friendship, 
as I hate dissimulation in the language of the 
heart. I am determined to pay Charlotte a poetic 
compliment, if I could hit on some glorious old 
Scotch air, in number second.* You will see a 
small attempt on a shred of paper in the book ; 
but though Dr» Blacklock commended it very 
highly, I am not just satisfied with it myself I 
intend to make it description of some kind : the 
whining cant of love, except in real passion, and 
by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the 
preaching cant of old Father Smeaton, Whig- 
minister at Kilmaurs. Darts, flames, cupids, 
loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a 
Mauchline * * * * — a senseless rabble. 

I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight 
from the old, venerable author of Tullochgorum, 
John of Badenyon, &c. 1 suppose you know he 
is a clergyman. It is by far the finest poetic com- 
pliment I ever got. I will send you a copy of 
it. 

I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries to 
wait on Mr. Miller about his farms. — Do tell that 
to lady M*Kenzie, that she may give me credit 
for a little wisdom. ' I wisdom dwell with pru- 
dence.' What a blessed fire side! How happy 
should I be to pass a winter evening under their 
venerable roof! and smoke a pipe of tobacco, or 
drink water-gruel with them ! What solemn, 
lengthened, laughter-quashing gravity of phiz ! 
What sage remarks on the good-for-nothing sons 
and daughters of indiscretion and folly ! And 

* Of the Scots Musical Museum, 
19 3 K 



( 434 ) 

what frugal lessons, as we straightened the fire- 
side circle, on the uses of the poker and tongs ! 

Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remem- 
bered in the old way to you. I used all my elo- 
quence, all the persuasive flourishes of the hand, 
and heart-melting modulation of periods in my 
power, to urge her out to Harvieston, but all in 
vain. My rhetoric seems quite to have lost its 
effect on the lovely half of mankind. I have seen 
the day — but that is a * tale of other years.' — In 
my conscience I believe that my heart has been 
so oft on fire that it is absolutely vitrified. I look 
on the sex with something like the admiration 
with which I regard the starry sky in a frosty 
December night. I admire the beauty of the 
Creator's workmanship ; I am charmed with the 
wild but graceful eccentricity of their motions, 
and — wish them good night. I mean this with 
respect to a certain passion dontj ai eu V hoiineur 
d^ etre un mise?rible esclave : as for friendship, you 
and Charlotte have given me pleasure, permanent 
pleasure, * which the world cannot give, nor take 
away,' I hope ; and which will outlast the heavens 
and the earth. 



No. 256. 
TO THE SAME. 

Without date. 

JL HAVE been at Dumfries, and at one 
visit more shall be decided about a farm in that 



( 435 ) 

country. I am rather hopeless in it ; but as my 
brother is an excellent farmer, and is, besides, an 
exceedingly prudent, sober man, (qualities which 
are only a younger brother's fortune in our family,) 
1 am determined, if my Dumfries business fail 
me, to return into partnership with him, and at 
our leisure take another farm in the neighbour- 
hood. I assure you I look for high compliments 
from you and Charlotte on this very sage instance 
of my unfathomable, incomprehensible wisdom. 
Talking of Charlotte, I must tell her that I have 
to the best of my power, paid her a poetic com- 
pliment, now compleated. The air is admirable : 
true old Highland. It was the tune of a Gaelic 
song which an Inverness lady sung me when T 
was there ; and I was so charmed with it that I 
begged her to write me a set of it from her sing- 
ing ; for it had never been set before. I am fixed 
that it shall go in Johnson's next number; so 
Charlotte and you need not spend your precious 
time in contradicting me. I won't say the poetry 
is first-rate; though I am convinced it is very 
well : and, what is not always the case with com- 
pliments to ladies, it is not only sincere hnt just 

Here follows the song of ' the Banks of the Devon.* 

See Poems, p. 443. 



( 486 ) 

No. 257. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinhurghy Nov. 21, 1787. 

X HAVE one vexatious fault to the kind- 
ly- welcome, well filled sheet which I owe to your 
and Charlotte's goodness — it contains too much 
sense, sentiment, and good-spelling. It is im- 
possible that even you two, whom I declare to my 
God, I will give credit for any degree of excellence 
the sex are capable of attaining ; it is impossible 
you can go on to correspond at that rate ; so like 
those who, Shenstone says, retire because they 
have made a good speech, I shall after a few let- 
ters hear no more of you. 1 insist that you shall 
write w^hatever comes first : what you see, what 
you read, what you hear, what you admire, what 
you dislike; trifles, bagatelles, nonsense; or to 
fill up a corner, e'en put down a laugh at full 
length. Now none of your polite hints about 
flattery : I leave that to your lovers, if you have 
or shall have any : though thank heaven I have 
found at last two girls who can be luxuriantly 
happy in their own minds and with one another, 
without that commonly necessary appendage to 
female bHss, a lover. 

Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting 
places for my soul in her wandering through the 
weary, thorny wilderness of this world — God 
knows I am ill-fitted for the struggle: I glory in 
being a poet, and I want to be thought a wise 



( 437 ) 

man — 1 would fondly be generous, and I wish to 
be rich. After all, I am afraid I am a lost subject. 
*Some folk hae a hantle o' fauts, an' I'm but a 
ne'er-do-weel.' 

Afternoon. — To close the melancholy reflections 
at the end of last sheet, I shall just add a piece of 
devotion, commonly known in Carrick, by the 
title of the ' Wabster's grace.' 

' Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we. 
Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
Gude forgie us, an' I hope sae will he ! 
—Up and to your looms, lads.* 



No. 258. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, Dec. \2ih, 1787- 

i AM here under the care of a surgeon, 
with a bruised limb extended on a cushion; and 
the tints of my mind vying with the livid horror 
preceding a midnight thunder-storm. A drunken 
coachman was the cause of the first, and incom- 
parably the lightest evil ; misfortune, bodily consti- 
tution, hell and myself have formed a * Quadruple 
Alliance' to guarantee the other. I got my fall 
on Saturday, and am getting slowly better. 

1 have taken tooth and nail to the bible, and 
am got through the five books of Moses, and half 
way in Joshua. It is really a glorious book. I 
sent for my book-binder to-day, and ordered him 
to get me an octavo bible in sheets, the best paper 



( 438 ) 

and print in town ; and bind it with all the ele- 
gance of his craft. 

I would give my best song to my worst enemy, 
I mean the merit of making it, to have you and 
Charlotte by me. You are angelic creatures, and 
would pour oil and wine into my wounded spirit. 

I inclose you a proof copy of the ' Banks of the 
Devon,' which present with my best wishes to 
Charlotte. The ' Ochel-hills,' you shall probably 
have next week for yourself None of your fine 
speeches ! 



No. 259. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh J Dec. IQthy 1787- 

X BEGIN this letter in answer to yours 
of the 17th current, which is not yet cold since 
I read it. The atmosphere of my soul is vastly 
clearer than when I wrote you last. For the first 
time, yesterday I crossed the room on crutches. 
It would do your heart good to see my hardship, 
not on my poetic, but on my oaken stilts ; throw- 
ing my best leg with an air ! and with as much 
hilarity in my gait and countenance, as a May 
frog leaping across the newly harrowed ridge, en- 
joying the fragrance of the refreshed earth after 

the long-expected shower ! 

****** 

I can't say I am altogether at my ease w^hen I 
see any where in my path, that meagre, squalid, 



( 439 ) 

famine-faced spectre, poverty; attended as he al- 
ways is, by iron-fisted oppression, and leering 
contempt ; but I have sturdily withstood his buf- 
fetings many a hard-laboured day already, and 
still my motto is — I dare ! My worst enemy is 
Moimeme. 1 lie so miserably open to the inroads 
and incursions of a mischievous, light-armed, well- 
mounted banditti, under the banners of imagina- 
tion, whim, caprice, and passion ; and the heavy 
armed veteran regulars of wisdom, prudence and 
fore-thought, move so very, very slow, that I am 
almost in a state of perpetual warfare, and alas ! 
frequent defeat. There are just two creatures 
that I would envy, a horse in his wild state tra- 
versing the forests of Asia, or an oyster on some 
of the desart shores of Europe. The one has not 
a wish without enjoyment, the other has neither 
wish nor fear. 



No. 260. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, March l^th, 1788. 

1. KNOW, my ever dear friend, that you 
will be pleased with the news when 1 tell you, I 
have at last taken a lease of a farm. Yesternight 
I compleated a bargain with INlr. Miller, of Dal- 
swinton, for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks 
of the Nith, between five and six miles above 
Dumfries. I begin at Whitsunday to build a 
house, drive lime, kc. and heaven be my help ! 



( 440 ) 

for it will take a strong effort to bring my mind 
into the routine of business. I have discharged 
all the army of my former pursuits, fancies and 
pleasures; a motly host! and have literally and 
strictly retained only the ideas of a few friends, 
which I have incorporated into a life-guard. I 
trust in Dr. Johnson's observation, * Where much 
is attempted, something is done.' Firmness both 
in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would 
wish to be thought to possess ; and have always 
despised the whining yelp of complaint, and the 
cowardly, feeble resolve. 

Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this winter, 
and begged me to remember her to you the first 
time I wrote to you. Surely woman, amiable 
woman, is often made in vain ! Too delicately 
formed for the rougher pursuits of ambition; too 
noble for the dirt of avarice, and even too gentle 
for the rage of pleasure : formed indeed for and 
highly susceptible of enjoyment and rapture; but 
that enjoyment, alas ! almost wholly at the mercy 
of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or wicked- 
ness of an animal at all times comparatively un« 
feeling, and often brutal. 



( 441 ) 

No. 261. 
TO THE SAME. 

Mauchline, 1th April, 1788. 

M. AM indebted to you and Miss Nimmo 
for letting me know Miss Kennedy. Strange! 
how apt we are to indulge prejudices in our judg- 
ments of one another ! Even I, who pique my- 
self on my skill in marking characters ; because I 
am too proud of my character as a man, to be 
dazzled in my judgment jfcr glaring wealth; and 
too proud of my situation as a poor man to be 
biassed against squalid poverty; I was unac- 
quainted with Miss K.'s very uncommon worth. 

I am going on a good deal progressive in mort 
grand hid, the sober science of life. I have lately 
made some sacrifices, for which, were I viva voce 
with you to paint the situation and recount the 
circumstances, you would applaud me. 



No. 262. 
TO THE SAME. 

No date. 



j\ OW for that wayward, unfortunate 
thing, myself. I have broke measures with * * * 
and last week I wrote him a frosty, keen letter, 

3 L 



( 442 ) 

He replied in terms of chastisement, and promised 
me upon his honour that I should have the ac- 
count on Monday ; but this is Tuesday, and yet 
I have not heard a w^ord from him. God have 
mercy on me ! a poor d-mn-d, incautious, duped, 
unfortunate fool ! The sport, the miserable victim 
of rebellious pride; hypochondriac imagination, 
agonizing sensibility, and bedlam passions ! 

'I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to 
die!' I had lately *a hairbreadth 'scape in th' 
imminent deadly breach' of love too. Thank my 
stars I got off heart-whole, * waur fley'd than 
hurt.' — Interruption, 

I have this moment got a hint «!f * * * * * * 
* * I fear I am something like — undone — but I 
hope for the best. Come, stubborn pride and un- 
shrinking resolution ! accompany me through this, 
to me, miserable world! You must not desert 
me ! Your friendship I think 1 can count on, 
though I should date my letters from a marching 
regiment. Early in life, and all my life, 1 reckon- 
ed on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope. 
Seriously, though life at present presents me with 
but a melancholy path : but — my limb will soon 
be sound, and I shall struggle on. 



( 443 ) 

No. 263. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, Sunday. 

To-morrow, my dear Madam, I 

leave Edinburgh. 

****** 

I have altered all my plans of future life. A 
farm that I could live in, I could not find; and 
indeed, after the necessary support my brother 
and the rest of the family required, I could not 
venture on farming in that style suitable to my 
feelings. You will condemn me for the next step 
I have taken. I have entered into the excise. I 
stay in the west about three weeks, and then re- 
turn to Edinburgh for six weeks' instructions ; 
afterwards, for I get employ instantly, I go oil il 
plait a DieUf — et mon Roi. I have chosen this, 
my dear friend, after mature deliberation. The 
question is not, at w^hat door of fortune's palace 
shall we enter in ; but w hat doors does she open 
to us ? I was not likely to get any thing to do. 
I wanted un but, which is a dangerous, and un- 
happy situation. I got this without any hanging 
on, or mortifying solicitation ; it is immediate 
bread, and though poor in comparison of the last 
eighteen months of my existence, 'tis luxury in 
comparison of all my preceeding life : besides, the 
commissioners are some of them my acquaintances, 
and all of them my firm friends. 



( 444 ) 

No. 264. 
TO MISS M N. 

Saturday Noon, No. 2, St. James's 
Square, New-Town, Edinburgh. 

JHLERE have I sat, my dear Madam, in 
the stony attitude of perplexed study for fifteen 
vexatious minutes, my head askew, bending over 
the intended card ; my fixed eye insensible to the 
very light of day poured around ; my pendulous 
goose-feather, loaded with ink, hanging over the 
future letter; all for the important purpose of 
writing a complimentary card to accompany your 
trinket. 

Compliments is such a miserable Greenland ex- 
pression ; lies at such a chilly polar distance from 
the torrid zone of my constitution, that I cannot, 
for the very soul of me, use it to any person for 
whom I have the twentieth part of the esteem, 
every one must have for you who knows you. 

As I leave town in three or four days, I can 
give myself the pleasure of calling for you only 
for a minute. Tuesday evening, sometime about 
seven, or after, I shall wait on you, for your fare- 
well commands. 

The hinges of your box, I put into the hands 
of the proper connoisseur. The broken glass, 
likewise, went under review; but deliberative 
wisdom thought it would too much endanger the 
whole fabric. 

I am, dear Madam, 

With all sincerity of enthusiasm. 

Your very humble Servant. 



( 445 ) 

No. 265. 

TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE, EDINBURGH. 

Edinburgh, Sunday Morning, 
November 9,3d, 1787- 

J. BEG, my dear Sir, you would not 
make any appointment to take us to Mr. Ainslie's 
to night. On looking over my engagements, 
constitution, present state of my health, some 
little vexatious soul concerns, kc. I find I cannot 
sup abroad to-night. 

I shall be in to-day till one o'clock, if you have 
a leisure hour. 

You will think it romantic when I tell you, 
that I find the idea of your friendship almost 
necessary to my existence. — You assume a proper 
length of face in my bitter hours of blue-devilism, 
and you laugh fully up to my highest wishes at 
my good things, — I don't know, upon the whole, 
if you are one of the first fellows in God's world, 
but you are so to me. I tell you this just now, 
in the conviction that some inequalities in my 
temper and manner may perhaps sometimes make 
you suspect that I am not so warmly as I ought 
to be 

Your friend. 



( 446 ) 

No. 266. 
TO MISS CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, Dec. 1787- 

My dear Madam, 

X JUST now have read yours. The 
poetic compliments I pay cannot be misunder- 
stood. They are neither of them so particular as 
to point you out to the world at large ; and the 
circle of your acquaintances will allow all I have 
said. Besides I have complimented you chiefly, 
almost solely, on your mental charms. Shall I be 
plain with you ? I will ; so look to it. Personal 
attractions, Madam, you have much above par; 
wit, understanding, and worth, you possess in 
the first class. This is a cursed flat way of telling 
you these truths, but let me hear no more of your 
sheepish timidity. I know the world a little. I 
know what they will say of my poems; by second 
sight I suppose : for I am seldom out in my con- 
jectures; and you may believe me, my dear 
Madam, I would not run any risk of hurting you 
by an ill-judged compliment. I wish to show to 
the world, the odds between a poet's friends and 
those of simple prosemen. More for your infor- 
mation both the pieces go in. One of them, 
* Where braving all the winter's harms,' is already 
set — the tune is Neil Gow's Lamentation for 
Abercarny ; the other is to be set to an old High- 
land air in Daniel Dow's ' Collection of ancient 
Scots Music;' the name is Ha a Chaillich air mo 



( 447 ) 

Dheidh, My treacherous memory has forgot 
every circumstance about Les Incas, only I think 
you mentioned them as being in C 's pos- 
session. I shall ask him about it. I am afraid 
the song of * Somebody' will come too late — as I 
shall, for certain, leave town in a week for Ayr- 
shire, and from that to Dumfries, but there my 
hopes are slender. I leave my direction in town, 
so any thing, wherever I am, will reach me. 

I saw your's to it is not too severe, nor 

did he take it amiss. On the contrary, like a 
whipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in the 

Christmas days. Mr. -— has given him the 

invitation, and he is determined to accept of it. 
O selfishness ! he owns, in his sober moments, 
that from his own volatility of inclination, the 
circumstances in which he is situated and his 
knowledge of his father's disposition, — the whole 
affair is chimerical — yet he will gratify an idle 
penchant, 2X the enormous, cruel expence of per- 
haps ruining the peace of the very woman for 
whom he professes the generous passion of love ! 
He is a gentleman in his mind and manners, taut 
pis ! — He is a volatile school-boy : The heir of a 
man's fortune who well knows the value of two 
times two ! 

Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before 

they should make the amiable, the lovely 

the derided object of their purse-proud contempt. 

I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. 's re- 
covery, because I really thought all was over with 
her. There are days of pleasure yet awaiting 
her. 



( 448 ) 

* As I cam in by Glenap 
I met with an aged woman ; 
She bade me cheer up my heart. 
For the best o' my days was comin/ 



No. 267. 
TO MR. MORISON, WRIGHT, MAUCHLINE. 

Ellisland, Jaii. 22d, 1788. 

My dear Sir, 

IVeCESSITY obliges me to go into my 
new house even before it be plaistered. I will 
inhabit the one end until the other is finished. 
About three weeks more, I think, will at farthest, 
be my time beyond which I cannot stay in this 
present house. If ever you wished to deserve the 
blessing of him that was ready to perish ; if ever 
you were in a situation that a little kindness 
would have rescued you from many evils ; if ever 
you hope to find rest in future states of untried 
being; — get these matters of mine ready. My 
servant will be out in the beginning of next week 
for the clock. My compliments to Mrs. Morison.* 
1 am, after all my tribulation. 

Dear Sir, Yours. 

* This letter refers to chairs, and other articles of furniture 
which the poet had ordered. 



( 449 ) 

No. 268. 

TO MR. JAMES SMITH, 

AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW. 

Mauchline, April 'iM, 1788. 

JBeWARE of your Strasburgh, my good 
Sir ! Look on this as the opening of a correspon- 
dence like the opening of a twenty-four gun 
battery ! 

There is no understanding a man properly, 
without knowing sometimes of his previous ideas 
(that is to say, if the man has any ideas ; for I 
know many who, in the animal-muster, pass for 
men, that are the scanty masters of only one idea 
on any given subject, and by far the greatest part 
of your acquaintances and mine can barely boast 
of ideas, 1.25 — 1.5 — 1.75, or some such fractional 
matter) so to let you a little into the secrets of my 
pericranium, there is, you must know, a certain 
clean-limbed, handsome, bewitching young hussy 
of your acquaintance, to whom I have lately and 
privately given a matrimonial title to my corpus. 

' Bode a robe and wear it.' 

Says the wise old Scots adage ! I hate to presage 
ill-luck ; and as my girl has been doubly kinder 
to me than even the best of women usually are to 
their partners of our sex, in similar circumstances, 
I reckon on twelve times a brace of children 
against I celebrate my twelfth wedding day: 

3 M 



( 450 ) 

these twenty-four will give me twenty-four gos- 
sippings, twenty-four christenings, (I mean one 
equal to two) and I hope, by the blessing of the 
God of my fathers, to make them twenty-four 
useful members of society, and twenty-four ap- 
proven servants of their God | * * * * « Light's 
heartsome,' quo' the wife, when she was stedling 
sheep. You see what a lamp I have hung up to 
lighten your paths, when you are idle enough to 
explore the combinations and relations of my 
ideas. 'Tis now as plain as a pike-staff, why a 
twenty-four gun battery w^as a metaphor I could 
readily employ. 

Now for business. — I intend to present Mrs. 
Burns with a printed shawl, an article of which I 
dare say you have variety : 'tis my first present to 
her since I have iri'evocahly called her mine, and 
I have a kind of whimsical wish to get her the 
said first present from an old and much valued 
friend of hers and mine, a trusty Trojan, on 
w^hose friendship I count myself possessed of a 
life- rent lease. 

«• * ^ * •* 7i^ 

Look on this letter as a * beginning of sorrows ;' 
I'll wTite you till your eyes ache with adding 
nonsense. 

Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designation) 
begs her best compliments to you. 



( 451 ) 

No. 269. 
TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Mauckline, May ^6tk, 1788. 

My dear Friend, 

1 AM two kind of letters in your debt, 
but I have been from home, and horridly busy 
buying and preparing for my farming business: 
over and above the plague of my excise instruc- 
tions, which this week will finish. 

As I flatter my wishes that I forsee many future 
years correspondence between us, 'tis foolish to 
talk of excusing dull epistles: a dull letter may 
be a very kind one. I have the pleasure to tell 
you that I have been extremely fortunate in all 
my buyings and bargainings hitherto ; Mrs. Burns 
not excepted; which title I now avow to the 
world. I am truly pleased with this last affair; 
it has indeed added to my anxieties for futurity, 
but it has given a stability to my mind and my 
resolutions, unknown before; and the poor girl 
has the mpst sacred enthusiasm of attachment to 
me, and has not a wish but to gratify my every 
idea of her deportment. 

I am interrupted, 

Farewell ! my dear Sir. 



( 452 ) 

No. 270. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Mmichline, May Uh, 1788. 
Written shortly after tKe poet's marriage. 

Madam, 

J[ O jealousy or infidelity I am an equal 
stranger: My preservative from the first, is the 
most thorough consciousness of her sentiments of 
honour, and her attachment to me ; my antidote 
against the last, is my long and deep rooted affec- 
tion for her. 

In housewife matters, of aptness to learn and 
activity to execute, she is eminently mistress : 
and during my absence in Nithsdale, she is regu- 
larly and constantly apprentice to my mother and 
sisters in their dairy and other rural business. 

The Muses must not be offended when I tell 
them, the concerns of my wife and family will, in 
my mind, always take the pas ; but I assure them 
their ladyships will ever come next in place. 

You are right that a bachelor state would have 
insured me more friends ; but, from a cause you 
will easily guess, conscious peace in the enjoy- 
ment of my own mind, and unmistrusting confi- 
dence in approaching my God, would seldom 
have been of the number * * * * 



{ 453 ) 

No. 271. 
TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, June l^tk, 1788. 

X HIS is now the third day, my dearest 
Sir, that I have sojourned in these regions ; and 
during these three days you have occupied more 
of my thoughts than in tliree weeks preceding : 
In Ayrshire I have several variations of friend- 
ship's coQipass, here it points invariably to the 
pole. — My farm gives me a good many uncouth 
cares and anxieties, but I hate the language of 
complaint. Job, or some one of his friends, says 
well — * Why should a living man complain ?' 

I have been lately much mortified with con- 
templating an unlucky imperfection in the very 
framing and construction of my soul ; namely, a 
blundering inaccuracy of her olfactory organs in 
hitting the scent of craft or design in my fellow 
creatures. 1 do not mean any compliment to my 
ingenuousness, or to hint that the defect is in con- 
sequence of the unsuspicious simplicity of con- 
scious truth and honour : I take it to be, in some 
way or other, an imperfection in the mental 
sight; or, metaphor apart, some modification of 
dulness. In two or three small instances lately, I 
have been most shamefully out. 

I have all along, hitherto, in the warfare of life, 
been bred to arms among the light-horse — the 
piquet-guards of fancy ; a kind of Hussars and 
Highlanders of the Brain ; but I am firmly re** 



( 454 ) 

solved to sell out of these giddy battalions, who 
have no ideas of a battle but fighting the foe, or 
of a siege but storming the town. Cost w^hat it 
will, I am determined to buy in among the grave 
squadrons of heavy armed thought, or the artillery 
corps of plodding contrivance. 

What books are you reading, or what is the 
subject of your thoughts, besides the great studies 
of your profession ? You said something about 
religion in your last. I don't exactly remember 
what it was, as the letter is in Ayrshire; but I 
thought it not only prettily said, but nobly 
thought. You will make a noble fellow if once 
you were married. I make no reservation of 
your being t^^//-married : You have so much 
sense, and knowledge of human nature, that 
though you may not realise perhaps the ideas of 
romance, yet you will never be ill-married. 

Were it not for the terrors of my ticklish situ- 
ation respecting provision for a family of children, 
I am decidedly of opinion that the step I have 
taken is vastly for my happiness. As it is, I look 
to the excise scheme as a certainty of maintenance ; 
a maintenance, luxury to what either Mrs. Burn& 
or I were born to. 

Adieu. 



{ 455 ) 

No. 272. 
TO THE SAME. 

Ellisland, June 30ih, 1788. 

My dear Sm, 

X JUST now received your brief epistle; 
and to take vengeance on your laziness, I have, 
you see, taken a long sheet of writing paper, and 
have begun at the top of the page, intended to 
scribble on to the very last corner. 

I am vext at that affair of the ^- * * but dare 
not enlarge on the subject until you send me your 
direction, as I suppose that will be altered on your 
late master and friend's death. I am concerned 
for the old fellow's exit, only as I fear it may be 
to your disadvantage in any respect — for an old 
man's dying, except he have been a very benevo- 
lent character, or in some particular situation of 
life, that the welfare of the poor or the helpless 
depended on him, I think it an event of the most 
trifling moment to the w^orld. Man is naturally 
a kind benevolent animal, but he is dropt into 
such a needy situation here in this vexatious 
world, and has such a whoreson, hungry, grow- 
ling, multiplying pack of necessities, appetites, pas- 
sions, and desires about him, ready to devour him 
for want of other food; that in fact he must lay 
aside his cares for others, that he may look pro- 
perly to himself You have been imposed upon 

in paying Mr. M for the profile of a Mr. H. 

I did not mention it in my letter to you, nor did 



( 456 ) 

1 ever give Mr. M any such order. I have 

no objection to lose the money, but I will not 
have any such profile in my possession. 

I desired tlie carrier to pay you, but as I men- 
tioned only 15s. to him, I will rather enclose you 
a guinea note. 1 have it not indeed to spare here, 
as I am only a sojourner in a strange land in this 
place ; but in a day or two I return to Mauchline, 
and there I have the bank notes through the house 
like salt permits. 

There is a great degree of folly in talking un- 
necessarily of one's private affairs. I have just 
now been interrupted by one of my new neigh- 
bours, who has made himself absolutely contemp- 
tible in my eyes, by his silly, garrulous pruriency. 
1 know it has been a fault of my own too ; but 
from this moment I abjure it, as I would the ser- 
vice of hell ! Your poets, spendthrifts, and other 
fools of that kidney, pretend, forsooth, to crack 
their jokes on prudence, but 'tis a squalid vaga- 
bond glorying in his rags. Still imprudence re- 
specting money matters, is much more pardonable 
than imprudence respecting character. I have no 
objection to prefer prodigality to avarice, in some 
few instances ; but I appeal to your observation, 
if you have not met, and often met, with the 
same little disingenuousness, the same hollow- 
hearted insincerity, and disintegritive depravity 
of principle, in the hackneyed victims of profu- 
sion, as in the unfeeling children of parsimony. 
I have every possible reverence for the much talk- 
ed-of world beyond the grave, and I wish that 
which piety believes and virtue deserves, may be 
all matter of fact — But in things belonging to and 



( 457 ) 

terminating in this present scene of existence, 
man has serious and interesting business on hand. 
Whether a man shall shake hands with welcome 
in the distinguished elevation of respect, or shrink 
from contempt in the abject corner of insignifi- 
cance; whether he shall wanton under the tropic 
of plenty, at least enjoy himself in the comfortable 
latitudes of easy convenience, or starve in the 
arctic circle of dreary poverty ; whether he shall 
rise in the manly consciousness of a self-approving 
mind, or sink beneath a galling load of regret and 
remorse — these are alternatives of the last moment. 
You see how I preach. You used occasionally 
to sermonize too; I wish you would, in charity, 
favour me with a sheet full in your own way. I 
admire the close of a letter lord Bolingbroke 
writes to Dean Swift: * Adieu, dear Swift! with 
all thy faults I love thee entirely : make an effort 
to love me with all mine !' Humble servant, and 
all that trumpery, is now such a prostituted busi- 
ness, that honest friendship, in her sincere way, 
must have recourse to her primitive, simple, fare- 
well ! 



No. 273. 

TO MR. GEORGE LOCH ART, 

MERCHANT, GLASGOW. 

Mauchline, July 18tk, 1788. 

My dear Sir, 

J. AM just going for Nithsdale, else 1 
would certainly have transcribed some of my 
20 3 N 



( 458 ) 

rhyming things for you. The Miss Bailies I have 
seen in Edinburgh. 'Fair and lovely are thy 
works, Lord God Almighty! Who would not 
praise Thee for these Thy gifts in Thy goodness 
to the sons of men !' It needed not your fine 
taste to admire them. I declare, one day I had 
the honour of dining at Mr. Bailie's, I was almost 
in the predicament of the children of Israel, when 
they could not look on Moses's face for the glory 
that shone in it when he descended from Mount 
Sinai. 

I did once write a poetic address from the falls 
of Bruar to his grace of Athole, when I was in 
the Highlands. When you return to Scotland 
let me know, and I will send such of my pieces 
as please myself best. 

I return to Mauchline in about ten days. 

My compliments to JNIr. Purden. I am, in 
truth, but at present in haste. 

Yours sincerely. 



No. ^74. 
TO MR. BEUGO, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH. 

Ellislandy Sep. Qtk, ] 788. 

My dear Sir, 

X HERE is not in Edinburgh above the 
number of the graces whose letters would have 
given me so much pleasure as yours of the 3d. 
instant, which only reached me yesternight. 



( 459 ) 

I am here on my farm, busy with my harvest; 
but for all that most pleasurable part of life called 
SOCIAL COMMUNICATION, I am here at the very 
elbow of existence. The only things that are to 
be found in this country, in any degree of per- 
fection, are stupidity and canting. Prose, they 
only know in graces, prayers, kc, and the value 
of these they estimate as they do their plaiding 
webs — by the ell ! As for the muses, they have as 
much an idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet. For my 
old capricious but good-natured hussy of a muse — 

By banks of Nith I sat and wept 

When Coila I thouglit on, 
In midst thereof I hung my harp 

The willow trees upon. 

I am generally about half my time in Ayrshire 
with my ' darling Jean,' and then I, at lucid in- 
tervals, throw my horny fist across my be-cob- 
webbed lyre, much in the same manner as an old 
wife throws her hand across the spokes of her 
spinning wheel. 

I will send you ' The Fortunate Shepherdess' as 
soon as I return to Ayrshire, for there I keep it 
with other precious treasure. I shall send it by a 
careful hand, as I would not for any thing it 
should be mislaid or lost. I do not wish to serve 
you from any benevolence, or other grave Chris- 
tian virtue; 'tis purely a selfish gratification of my 
own feeling whenever I think of you. 

^ ^ ^ yp y^ ^ 

If your better functions would give you leisure 
to write me I should be extremely happy ; that is 
to say, if you neither keep nor look for a regular 
correspondence. I hate the idea of being obliged 



( 460 ) 

to write a letter. I sometimes write a friend 
twice a week, at other times once a quarter. 

I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in 
making the author you mention place a map of 
Iceland instead of his portrait before his works: 
'Twas a glorious idea. 

Could you conveniently do me one thing — 
Whenever you finish any head I could like to 
have a proof copy of it. I might tell you a long 
story about your fine genius; but as what every 
body knows cannot have escaped you, I shall not 
say one syllable about it. 



No. 275. 
TO MISS CHALMERS, EDINBURGH. 

EUlsland, near Dumfries, Sept. l6tk, 1788. 

▼ T HERE are you ? and how are you ? 
and is lady M*Kenzie recovering her health ? for 
I have had but one solitary letter from you. I 
will not think you have forgot me, Madam ; and 
for my part — 

' When thee Jerusalem I forget. 
Skill part from my right hand !' 

* My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul care- 
less as that sea." I do not make my progress 
among mankind as a bowl does among its fellows 
— rolling through the crowd without bearing away 
any mark or impression, except where they hit in 
hostile collision. 



( 461 ) 

I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks by 
bad weather ; and as you and your sister once did 
me the honour of interesting yourselves much a 
Vegard de mot, I sit down to beg the continuation 
of your goodness. — I can truly say, that, all the 
exterior of life apart, I never saw two, whose 
esteem flattered the nobler feelings of my soul — I 
will not say more, but, so much as lady M'Kenzie 
and Miss Chalmers. When I think of you — 
hearts the best, minds the noblest, of human kind 
— unfortunate, even in the shades of life — When 
I think I have met with you, and have lived more 
of real life with you in eight days, than I can do 
with almost any body I meet with in eight years 
— when I think on the improbability of meeting 
you in this world again — I could sit down and cry 
like a child ! — If ever you honoured me with a 
place in your esteem, I trust I can now plead 
more desert. — I am secure against that crushing 
grip of iron poverty, which, alas ! is less or more 
fatal to the native worth and purity of, I fear, the 
noblest souls; and a late, important step in my 
life has . kindly taken me out of the way of those 
ungrateful iniquities, which, however overlooked 
in fashionable licence or varnished in fashionable 
phrase, are indeed but lighter and deeper shades 

of VILLAINY. 

Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I 
married ' my Jean.' This was not in consequence 
of the attachment of romance perhaps; but I had 
a long and much-loved fellow creature's happiness 
or misery in my determination, and I durst not 
trifle with so important a deposit. Nor have I 
any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite 



( 462 ) 

tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I 
am not sickened and disgJisted with the multiform 
curse of boarding-school affectation ; and 1 have 
got the handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, 
the soundest constitution, and the kindest heart 
in the country. Mrs. Burns believes, as firiiilv as 
her creed, that 1 am le plus bel esprit, et le plus 
honiiete nomme in the universe ; although she 
scarcely ever in her life, except the Scriptures of 
the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of 
David in metre, spent five minutes together on 
either prose or verse. — I must except also from 
this last, a certain late publication of Scots poems, 
which she has perused very devoutly ; and all the 
ballads in the country, as she has (O the partial 
lover! you will cry) the finest * wood note wild* 
I ever heard. — I am the more particular in this 
lady's character, as I know she will henceforth 
have the honour of a share in your best wishes. 
She is still at IMauchline, as I am building my 
house : for this hovel that 1 shelter in, while 
occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that 
blows, and every shower that falls ; and I am only 
preserved from being chilled to death, by being 
suffocated v/ith smoke. I do not find my farm 
that pennyworth I was taught to expect; but I 
believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. 
You will be pleased to hear that I have laid aside 
idle eclat, and bind every day after my reapers. 

To save me from that horrid situation of at any 
time going down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to 
misery, I have taken my excise instructions, and 
have my commission in my pocket for any emer- 
gency of fortune. If I could set all before your 



( 463 ) 

view, whatever disrespect you in common with 
the world, have for this business, I know you 
would approve of my idea. 

I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this 
egotistic detail : I know you and your sister will 
be interested in every circumstance of it. What 
signify the silly, idle gewgaws of wealth, or the 
ideal trumpery of greatness ! When fellov; par- 
takers of the same nature fear the same God, have 
the same benevolence of heart, the same nobleness 
of soul, the same detestation at every thing dis- 
honest, and the same scorn at every thing un- 
worthy — if they are not in the dependence of 
absolute beggary, in the name of common sense 
are they not equals ? And if the bias, the in- 
stinctive bias of their souls run the same way, 
why may they not be friends ? * 

When I may have an opportunity of sending 
you this Heaven only knows. Shenstone says, 
'When one is confined idle within doors by bad 
>veather, the best antidote against ennui is, to 
read the lettei-s of, or write to one's friends;' in 
that case then, if the weather continues thus, I 
may scrawl you half a quire. 

I very lately, to wit, since harvest began, wrote 
a poem, not in imitation, but in the manner of 
Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a short essay, 
just to try the strength of my muse's pinion in 
that way. I will send you a copy of it, when 
once I have heard from you. I have likewise 
been laying the foundation of some pretty large 
poetic works: how the superstructure will come 
on I leave to that great maker and marrer of pro- 
jects — TIME. Johnson's collection of Scots songs 



( 464 ) 

is going on in the third volume; and of conse- 
quence finds me a consumpt for a great deal of 
idle metre. — ^One of the most tolerable things I 
have done in that way, is, two stanzas that I 
made to an air, a musical gentleman* of my ac- 
quaintance composed for the anniversary of his 
wedding-day, which happens on the seventh of 
November. Take it as follow^s : 

' The day returns, my bosom burns/ &c. — See Poems, p. 458. 

I shall give over this letter for shame. If I 
should be seized with a scribbling fit, before this 
goes away, I shall make it another letter; and 
then you may allow your patience a week's respite 
between the two. I have not room for more than 
the old, kind, hearty, farewell ! 

To make some amends, iTtes cheres Mesdames, 
for dragging you on to this second sheet ; and to 
relieve a little the tiresomeness of my unstudied 
and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe )^u 
some of my poetic bagatelles : though 1 have, 
these eight or ten months, done very little that 
way. One day, in an hermitage on the banks of 
the Nith, belonging to a gentleman in my neigh- 
bourhood, who is so good as give me a key at 
pleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing myself 
the sequestered, venerable inhabitant of that lonely 
mansion. 

Lines written in Friar's Carse Hermitage. — See Poems, p. 300, 
* Captain Riddel of GlenriddeL 



( 465 ) 

No. 276. 
TO MRS. DUN LOP, OF DUNLOP. 

Mauchline, 21th Sep. 1788. 

X HAVE received twins, dear Madam, 
more than once; but scarcely ever with more 
pleasure than when I received yours of the 12th. 
instant. To make myself understood; I had 
wrote to Mr. Graham, inclosing my poem ad- 
dressed to him, and the same post which favoured 
me with yours, brought me an answer from him. 
It was dated the very day he had received mine ; 
and 1 am quite at a loss to say whether it was 
most polite or kind. 

Your criticisms, my honoured benefactress, are 
truly the work of a friend. They are not the 
blasting depredations of a canker-toothed, cater- 
pillar critic; nor are they the fair statement of 
cold impartiality, balancing with unfeeling ex- 
actitude, the pro and con of an author's merits; 
they are the judicious observations of animated 
friendship, selecting the beauties of the piece. I 
have just arrived from Nithsdale, and will be here 
a fortnight. 1 was on horseback this morning by 
three o'clock ; for between my wife and my farm 
is just forty-six miles. As 1 jogged on in the 
dark, I was taken with a poetic fit as follows : 

*Mrs. F of C 's lamentation for the 

death of her son; an uncommonly promising 
youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age.' 

' Fate gave the word, the ajTow sped/ &c. — See Poems, p. 484. 

S O 



( 466 ) 

You will not send me your poetic rambles, but, 
you see, I am no niggard of mine. I am sure 
your impromptus give me double pleasure ; what 
falls from your pen, can neither be unentertaining 
in itself, nor indifferent to me. 

The one fault you found, is just; but I cannot 
please myself in an emendation. 

\A^hat a life of solicitude is the life of a parent ■ 
you interested me much in your young couple. 

I would not take my folio paper for this epistle, 
and now I repent it. I am so jaded with my 
dirty long journey that I was afraid to drawl into 
the essence of dulness with any thing larger than 
a quarto, and so I must leave out another rhyme 
of this morning's manufacture. 

I will pay the sapientipotent George most 
cheerfully, to hear from you ere I leave Ayrshire 



No. 277. 

TO MR. JAMES JOHNSON, 
ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH. 

Mauchline, Nov. I5th, I788. 

My deau Sir, 

Jl have sent you two more songs. — If 
you h^ve got any tunes, or any thing to correct, 
please send them by return of the carrier. 

1 can easily see, my dear friend, that you will 
very probably have four volumes. Perhaps you 
may not find your account lucratively, in this 



( 467 ) 

business; but you are a patriot for the music of 
your country ; and I am certain, posterity will 
look on themselves as highly indebted to your 
public spirit. Be not in a hurry ; let us go on cor- 
rectly ; and your name shall be immortal. 

I am preparing a flaming preface for your third 
volume. I see every day new musical publica- 
tions advertised ; but what are they ? Gaudy, 
hunted butterflies of a day, and then vanish for 
ever : but your work will outlive the momentary 
neglects of idle fashion, and defy the teeth of mine. 

Have you never a fair goddess that leads you a 
wild-goose chase of amorous devotion ? Let me 
know a few of her qualities, such as, whether she 
be rather black or fair, plump or thin, short or 
tall, kc. and chuse your air, and I shall task my 
muse to celebrate her. 



No. 278. 
TO DR..BLACKLOCK. 

Mauckl'me, Nov. I5tk, 1788. 

Rev. and f)BAU Sir, 

As I hear nothing of your motions but 
that you are, or were, out of town, I do not know 
where this may find you; or whether it will find 
you at all. I wTote you a long letter, dated from 
the land of matrimony, in June; but either it 
had not found you, or, what I dread more, it 
found you or Mrs. Blacklock in too precarious a 



< 468 ) 

state of health and spirits, to take notice of an idle 
packet. 

I have done many little things for Johnson, 
since I had the pleasure of seeing you ; and I 
have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's 
^Moral Epistles; but from your silence, I have 
every thing to fear, so I have only sent you two 
melancholy things, which I tremble lest they 
should too well suit the tone of your present 
feelings. 

In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to 
Nithsdale ; till then, my direction is at this place ; 
after that period it will be at Ellisland, near Dum- 
fries. It would extremely oblige me were it but 
half a line, to let me know how you are, and 
where you are. — Can I be indifferent to the fate 
of a man, to whom I owe so much? A man 
whom I not only esteem but venerate. 

My warmest good wishes and most respectful 
compliments to Mrs. Blacklock, and Miss John- 
ston, if she is with you. 

I cannot conclude without telling you that I 
am more and more pleased *\vith the step I took 
respecting *my Jean. — Two things, from my 
happy experience, I set down as apothegms in 
life. A wife's head is immaterfal compared with 
Iier heart — and — * Virtue's (for wisdom what poet 
pretends to it) — ways are ways of pleasantness, 
and all her paths are peace.' 

Adieu ! 

* Fate gave the Word^, the arrow sped/ &c. — See Poems, p. 484. 

* The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 2^1, 



( 469 ) 



No. 279. 
TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, Jan. Gtk, I789. 

JVJLaNY happy returns of the season to 
you, my dear Sir! May you be comparatively 
happy up to your comparative worth among the 
sons of men ; which wish would, I am sure, make 
you one of the most blest of the human race. 

I do not know if passing a * Writer to the sig- 
net' be a trial of scientific merit, or a mere busi- 
ness of friends and interest. However it be, let 
me quote you my two favourite passages, which 
though I have repeated them ten thousand times, 
still they rouse my manhood and steel my resolu- 
tion like inspiration. 



■On Reason build resolve. 



That column of true majesty in man. 

Young. 

Hear, Alfred, hero of the state. 

Thy genius heaven's high will declare ; • 

The triumph of the truly great 

Is never, never to despair ! 

Is never to despair ! 

Masque of Alfred. 

I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle 
for bread, business, notice, and distinction, in 
common with hundreds. — But who are they? 
Men, like yourself, and of that: aggregate body, 
your compeers, seven tenths of them cohie short 
of your advantages natural and accidental; while 



( 470 ) 

two of those that remain either neglect their 
parts, as flowers blooming in a desart, or mispend 
their strength, like a bull goring a bramble bush. 
But to change the theme: I am still catering 
for Johnson's publication ; and among others, I 
have brushed up the following old favourite song 
a little, wdth a view to your worship. I have 
only altered a w^ord here and there; but if you 
like the humour of it, we shall think of a stanza 

or two to add to it. 

****** 



No. 280. 

TO MR. JAMES HAMILTON, 

GROCER, GLASGOW. 

EUisIand, Mat/ ^6tk, I789. 

Dear Siii, 

X SEND you, by John Glover, carrier, 
the above account for Mr. Turnbull, as I suppose 
you know his address. 

I would fain offer, my dear Sir, a w^ord of sym- 
pathy with your misfortune; but it is a tender 
string, and I know not how to touch it. It is 
easy to flourish a set of high-flown sentiments on 
the subject that would give great satisfaction to — 
a breast quite at ease ; but as one observes, who 
was very seldom mistaken in the theory of life, 
'The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and a 
stranger intermeddleth not therewith,' 



( 471 ) 

Among some distressful emergencies that I 
have experienced in life, I ever laid this down as 
my foundation of comfort — That lie who has lived 
the life of an honest ma7i, has by no means lived 
in vain ! 

With every wish for your welfare and future 
success, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Sincerely yours. 



No. 281. 
TO WILLIAM CREECH, ESQ. 

Ellisland, May 30th, 1789.. 

Sir, » 

Jl had intended to have troubled you 
with a long letter, but at present the dehghtful 
sensations of an omnipotent tooth-ache so engross 
all my inner man, as to put it out of my power 
even to write nonsense. — However, as in duty 
bound, I approach my bookseller with an offering 
in my hand — a few poetic clinches and a song : — 
To expect any other kind of offering from the 
Rhyming Tribe, would be to know them much 
less than you do. I do not pretend that there is 
much merit in these morceaux, but I have two 
reasons for sending them ; primo, they are mostly 
ill-natured, so are in unison with my present feel- 
ings, while fifty troops of infernal spirits are 
driving post from ear to ear along my jaw-bones ; 
and secondly, they are so short, that you cannot 



( 472 ) 

leave off in the middle, and so hurt my pride in 
the idea that you found any work of mine too 
heavy to get through. 

I have a request to beg of you, and I not only 
beg of you, but conjure you — by all your wishes 
and by all your hopes, that the muse will spare 
the satiric wink in the moment of your foibles; 
that she will warble the song of rapture round 
your hymeneal couch ; and that she will shed on 
your turf the honest tear of elegiac gratitude! 
grant my request as speedily as possible. — Send 
me by the very first fly or coach for this place, 
three copies of the last edition of my poems; 
which place to my account. 

Now, may the good things of prose, and the 
good things of verse, come among thy hands 
until they be filled w^ith the good things of this 
life! prayeth* ROBERT BURNS. 



No. 282. 
TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, June 8th, I789. 

My dear Friend, 

M. AM perfectly ashamed of myself when 
I look at the date of your last. It is not that I 
forget the friend of my heart and the companion 
of my peregrinations ; but I have been condemned 
to drudgery beyond sufferance, though not, thank 
God, beyond redemption. I have had a collection 



(473 ) 

of poems by a lady put into my hands, to prepare 
them for the press ; which horrid task, with sow- 
ing my corn with my own hand, a parcel of 
masons, wrights, plaisterers, &c. to attend to, 
roaming on buvsiness through Ayrshire — all this 
w^as against me, and the very first dreadful article 
was of itself too much for me. 

13th. I have not had a moment to spare from 
incessant toil since the 8th. Life, my dear Sir, is 
a serious matter. You know, by experience, that 
a man's individual self is a good deal ; but believe 
me, a wife and family of children, whenever you 
have the honour to be a husband and a father, 
will shew you that your present most anxious 
hours of solicitude are spent on trifles. The wel- 
fare of those who are very dear to us, whose only 
support, hope and stay we are — this, to a generous 
mind, is another sort of more important object of 
care than any concerns whatever which centre 
merely in the individual. On the other hand, let 
no young, unmarried, rake-helly dog among you, 
make a song of his pretended liberty and freedom 
from care. If the relations we stand in to king, 
country, kindred, and friends, be any thing but 
the visionary fancies of dreaming metaphysicians ; 
if religion, virtue, magnanimity, generosity, hu- 
manity and justice, be aught but empty sounds; 
then the man who may be said to live only for 
others, for the beloved, honourable female, whose 
tender, faithful embrace endears life, and for the 
helpless little innocents, who are to be the men 
and women, the worshippers of his God, the sub- 
jects of his king, and the support, nay, the very 
vital existence of his country, in the ensuing 

3 P 



( 474 ) 

age ; — compare such a man with any fellow what- 
ever, who, whether he bustle and push in business 
among labourers, clerks, statesmen; or whether 
he roar and rant, and drink and sing in taverns — 
a fellow over whose grave no one will breathe a 
single heigh-ho, except from the cobweb-tie of 
what is called good fellowship — who has no view 
nor aim but what terminates in himself — if there 
be any grovelling earthborn wretch of our species, 
a renegado to common sense, who would fain be- 
lieve that the noble creature, man, is no better 
than a sort of fungus, generated out of nothing, 
nobody knows how, and soon dissipating in no- 
thing, nobody knows where ; such a stupid beast, 
such a crawling reptile, might balance the fore- 
going unexaggerated comparison, but no one else 
would have the patience. 

Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence. 
To make you amends^ I shall send you soon, and 
more encouraging still, without any postage, one 
or two rhymes of my later manufacture. 



No. 283. 
TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, CARSE. 

Ellisland, Oct. l6thy 1789. 

Sir, 

JlpIG with the idea of this important day* 
at Friars Carse, 1 have watched the elements and 

* The day on which ' the Whistle' was contended for. 



( 475 ) 

skies in the full persuasion that they would an- 
nounce it to the astonished world by some phe- 
nomena of terrific portent. — Yesternight, until a 
very late hour, did I wait with anxious horror, 
for the appearance of some comet firing half the 
sky ; or serial armies of sanguinary Scandinavians, 
darting athwart the startled heavens, rapid as the 
ragged lightning, and horrid as those convulsions 
of nature that bury nations. 

The elements, however, seem to take the mat- 
ter very quietly : they did not even usher in this 
morning with triple suns and a shower of blood, 
symbolical of the three potent heroes, and the 
mighty claret-shed of the day. — For me, as Thom- 
son in his Winter says of the storm — I shall 
' Hear astonished, and astonished sing.' 

The whistle and the man ; I sing 
The man that won the whistle, &c. 

' Here are we met, three merry boys. 

Three merry boys I trow are we ; 
And mony a night we've merry been, 

And mony mae we hope to be. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold coward loun is he : 
Wha last* beside his chair shall fa'. 

He is the king amang us three/ 

To leave the heights of Parnassus and come to 
the humble vale of prose. — I have some misgivings 
that I take too much upon me, when I request 
you to get your guest,' Sir Robert Lowrie, to 
frank the two inclosed covers for me ; the one of 

* In former editions of these verses, the word Jirst has been 
printed in this place instead of the word last. 



( 476 ) 

them, to Sir William Cunningham, of Robert- 
land, bart. at Auchenskeith, Kilmarnock,-— the 
other, to Mr. Allan Masterton, writing-master, 
Edinburgh. The first has a kindred claim on Sir 
Robert, as being a brother baronet, and likewise 
a keen foxite ; the other is one of the worthiest 
men in the world, and a man of real genius ; so, 
allow me to say, he has a fraternal claim on you. 
I want them franked for to-morrow, as I cannot 
get them to the post to-night. — I shall send a ser- 
vant again for them in the evening. Wishing 
that your head may be crowned with laurels to- 
night, and free from aches to-morrow, 
1 have the honour to be, Sir, 

Your deeply indebted humble Servant. 



No. 284. 
TO THE SAME. 



Sir, 

A WISH from my inmost soul it were 
in my power to give you a more substantial gra- 
tification and return for all your goodness to the 
poet, than transcribing a few of his idle rhymes. 
— However, *an old song,' though to a proverb 
an instance of insignificance, is generally the only 
coin a poet has to pay with. 

If my poems which I have transcribed, and 
mean still to transcribe into your book, were 
equal to the grateful respect and high esteem I 
bear for the gentleman to whom I present them., 



{ 477 ) 

they would be the finest poems in the language. 
— As they are, they will at least be a testimony 
with what sincerity I have the honour to be, 
Sir, Your devoted humble Servant. 



No. 285. 
TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, Nov. 1st, 1789- 

My dear Friend, 

M. HAD written you long ere now, could 
I have guessed where to find you, for I am sure 
you have more good sense than to waste the pre- 
cious days of vacation time in the dirt of business 
and Edinburgh. — Wherever you are, God bless 
you, and lead you not into temptation, but de- 
liver you from evil ! 

I do not know if I have informed you that I 
am now appointed to an excise division, in the 
middle of which my house and farm lie. In this 
I was extremely lucky. Without ever having 
been an expectant, as they call their journeyman 
excisemen, I was directly planted down to all in- 
tents and purposes an officer of excise; there to 
flourish and bring forth fruits — worthy of repent- 
ance. 

I know not how the word exciseman, or still 
more opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your 
ears. I too have seen the day when my auditory 
nerves would have felt very delicately on this sub- 



( 478 ) 

ject; but a wife and children are things which 
have a wonderful power in blunting these kind of 
sensations. Fifty pounds a year for life, and a 
provision for widows and orphans, you will allow 
is no bad settlement for a poet. For the ignominy 
of the profession, I have the encouragement which 
I once heard a recruiting Serjeant give to a numer- 
ous, if not a respectable audience, in the streets of 
Kilmarnock. — * Gentleman, for your further and 
better encouragement, I can assure you that our 
regiment is the most blackguard corps under the 
crown, and consequently, with us an honest fel- 
low has the surest chance for preferment.' 

You need not doubt that I find several verv 
unpleasant and disagreeable circumstances in my 
business; but I am tired with and disgusted at 
the language of complaint against the evils of life. 
Human existence in the most favourable situa- 
tions does not abound with pleasures, and has its 
inconveniences and ills ; capricious foolish man 
mistakes these inconveniences and ills, as if they 
were the peculiar property of his particular situa- 
tion ; and hence that eternal fickleness, that love 
of change, which has ruined, and daily does ruin 
many a fine fellow, as well as many a blockhead ; 
and is almost, without exception, a constant source 
of disappointment and misery. 

I long to hear from you how you go on — not so 
much in business as in life. Are you pretty well 
satisfied with your own exertions, and tolerably 
at ease in your internal reflections? 'Tis much 
to be a great character as a lawyer, but beyond 
comparison more to be a great character as a man. 



( 479 ) 

That you may be both the one and the other is 
the earnest wish, and that you xvill be both is the 
firm persuasion of, 

My dear Sir, &c. 



No. 286. 

TO MR. PETER HILL, 

BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH, 

Ellisland, Feb. 2d, 1790. 

J\ O ! I will not say one \vord about apo- 
logies or excuses for not writing — I am a poor, 
rascally, ganger, condemned to gallop at least 200 
miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty 
barrels ; and where can I find time to write to, or 
importance to interest any body ? The upbraid- 
ings of my conscience, nay, the upbraidings of my 
wife, have persecuted me on your account these 
two or three months past. — I wish to God I was 
a great man, that my correspondence might throw 
light upon you, to let the world see what you 
really are ; and then I would make your fortune, 
without putting my hand in my pocket for you, 
which, like all other great men, I suppose 1 would 
avoid as much as possible. What are you doing, 
and how are you doing? Have you lately seen 
any of my few friends? What is become of the 
BOROUGH REFORM, or how is the fate of my poor 
namesake Mademoiselle Burns decided? O man ! 
but for thee and thy selfish appetites, and dishonest 



( 480 ) 

artifices, that beauteous form, and that once inno- 
cent and still ingenuous mind, might have shone 
conspicuous and lovely in the faithful wife, and 
the affectionate mother; and shall the unfortunate 
sacrifice to thy pleasures have no claim on thy 
humanity ! 

I saw lately in a Review, some extracts from 
a new poem, called the Village Curate; send it 
me. I want likewise a cheap copy of the World. 
Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who does me 
the honour to mention me so kindly in his works, 
please give him my best thanks for the copy of 
his book — I shall write him my first leisure hour. 
I like his poetry much, but I think his style in 

prose quite astonishing. 

ii ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble 
you with farther commissions. I call it troubling 
you — because I want only books; the cheapest 
way, the best ; so you may have to hunt for them 
in the evening auctions. I want Smollet's works, 
for the sake of his incomparable humour. I 
have already Roderick Random, and Humphrey 
Clinker. — Peregrine Pickle, Launcelot Greaves, 
and Ferdenand Count Fathom, I still w^ant ; but 
as I said, the veriest ordinary copies will serve me. 
I am nice only in the appearance of my poets. I 
forget the price of Cowper's Poems, but I believe 
I must have them. I saw the other day, propo- 
sals for a publication, entitled, 'Banks' new and 
complete Christian's Family Bible,' printed for C. 
Cooke, Paternoster-row, London. — He promises 
at least,, to give in the work, I think it is three 
hundred and odd engravings, to which he has put 



( 481 ) 

the names of the first artists in London. — You 
will know the character of the performance, as 
some numbers of it are published ; and if it is 
really what it pretends to be, set me down as a 
subscriber, and send me the published numbers. 

Let me hear from you your first leisure minute, 
and trust me, you shall in future have no reason 
to complain of my silence. The dazzling per- 
plexity of novelty will dissipate and leave me to 
pursue my course in the quiet path of methodical 
routine. 



No. 287. 
TO MR. W. NICOL. 

Ellisland, Feb. gtk, 1790. 

My dear Sir, 

JL HAT d-mn-d mare of yours is dead. I 
would freely have given her price to have saved 
her: she has vexed me beyond description. In- 
debted as I was to your goodness, beyond what I 
can ever repay, I eagerly grasped at your offer to 
have the mare with me. That I might at least 
shew my readiness in wishing to be grateful, I 
took every care of her in my power. She was 
never crossed for riding above half a score of times 
by me, or in my keeping. I drew her in the 
plough, one of three, for one poor week. I re- 
fused fifty-five shillings for her, which was the 
highest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed her 
up, and had her in fine order for Dumfries fair; 
21 3 Q 



( 482 ) 

when four or five days before the fair, she was 
seized with an unaccountable disorder in the si- 
news, or somewhere in the bones of the neck; 
with a weakness or total want of power in her 
fillets; and, in short, the whole vertebrae of her 
spine seemed to be diseased and unhinged, and in 
eight and forty hours, in spite of the two best far- 
riers in the country, she died, and be d-mn-d to 
her! The farriers said that she had been quite 
strained in the fillets, beyond cure, before you 
had bought her, and that the poor devil, though 
she might keep a little flesh, had been jaded and 
quite worn out with fatigue and oppression. 
While she was with me, she was under my own 
eye; and I assure you, my much valued friend, 
every thing was done for her that could be done ; 
and the accident has vexed me to the heart In 
fact, I could not pluck up spirits to write you, on 
account of the unfortunate business. 

There is little new in this country. Our the- 
atrical company, of which you must have heard, 
leave us in a week. Their merit and character 
are indeed very great, both on the stage and 
in private life; not a worthless creature among 
them ; and their encouragement has been accord- 
ingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to 
twenty-five pounds a night; seldom less than the 
one, and the house will hold no more than the 
other. There have been repeated instances of 
sending away six, and eight, and ten pounds in a 
night, for want of room. A new theatre is to be 
built by subscription ; the first stone is to be laid 
on Friday first to come. Three hundred guineas 
have been raised by thirty subscribers, and thirty 



( 483 ) 

more might have been got if wanted. The 
manager, Mr. Sutherland, was introduced to me 
by a friend from Ayr; and a worthier or cleverer 
fellow I have rarely met with. Some of our 
clergy have slipt in by stealth now and then ; but 
they have got up a farce of their own. You must 
have heard how the Rev. Mr. Lawson of Kirkma- 
hoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr. Kirkpatrick of 
Dunscore, and the rest of that faction, have ac- 
cused, in formal process, the unfortunate and Rev. 
Mr. Heron of Kirkgunzeon, that in ordaining 
Mr. Nelson to the cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, 
the said Heron, feloniously and treasonably bound 
the said Nelson to the confession of faith, so far 
as it was agreeable to reason and the word of 
God! 

Mrs. B. begs to be remembered most gratefully 
to you. Little Bobby and Frank are charmingly 
well and healthy. I am jaded to death with fa- 
tigue. For these two or three months, on an aver- 
age, I have not ridden less than two hundred 
miles per week. 1 have done little in the poetic 
way. I have given Mr. Sutherland two pro- 
logues : one of which was delivered last week. I 
have likewise strung four or five barbarous stanzas, 
to the tune of Chevy Chase, by way of elegy on 
your poor unfortunate mare, beginning (the name 
she got here was Peg Nicholson) 

' Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare/ — See Poems, p. 3Q5. 

My best compliments to Mrs. Nichol, and little 
Neddy, and all the family. I hope Ned is a good 
scholar, and will come out to gather nuts and ap« 
pies with me next harvest. 



( 484 ) 

No. 288. 
TO MR. MURDOCH, 

TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON. 

Ellisland, July l6th, 1790. 

My dear Sir, 

I RECEIVED a letter from you a long 
time ago, but unfortunately, as it was in the time 
of my peregrinations and journeyings through 
Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence 
your directions along with it. Luckily my good 
star brought me acquainted with Mr. Kennedy, 
who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours : 
and by his means and mediation I hope to replace 
that link which my unfortunate negligence had 
so unluckily broke in the chain of our corres- 
pondence. I was the more vexed at the vile ac- 
cident, as my brother AVilliam, a journeyman 
saddler, has been for some time in London ; and 
wished above all things for your direction, that he 
might have paid his respects to his father's 

FRIEND. 

His last address he sent me was, 'William 
Burns, at Mr. Barber's, Sadler, No. 181, Strand.' 
I write him by Mr. Kennedy, but neglected to 
ask him for your address ; so, if you find a spare 
half minute, please let my brother know by a card 
where and when he will find you ; and the poor 
fellow will joyfully w^ait on you, as one of the few 
surviving friends of the man whose name, and 
Christian name too, he has the honour to bear. 



( 485 ) 

The next letter I write you shall be a long one. 
I have much to tell you of * hair-breadth 'scapes 
in th' imminent deadly breach,' with all the event- 
ful history of a life, the early years of which owed 
so much to your kind tutorage; but this at an 
hour of leisure. My kindest compliments to Mrs. 
Murdoch and family. 

I am ever, my dear Sir, 
Your obliged friend. 



No. 289. 
TO CRAUFORD TAIT, ESQ. EDINBURGH. 

EUisland, Oct. 15th, 1790. 

Dear Sir, 

Allow me to introduce to your ac- 
quaintance the bearer, Mr. William Duncan, a 
friend of mine, whom I have long known and 
long loved. His father, whose only son he is, has 
a decent little property in Ayrshire, and has bred 
the young mao to the law, in which department 
he comes up an adventurer to your good town. 
I shall give you my friend's character in two 
words : as to his head, he has talents enough, and 
more than enough for common life; as to his 
heart, when nature had kneaded the kindly clay 
that composes it, she said, ' I can no more.' 

You, my good Sir, were born under kinder 
stars; but your fraternal sympathy, I well know, 
can enter into the feelings of the young man, who 
goes into life with the laudable ambition to do 



( 486 ) 

something, and to be something among his fellow- 
creatures; but whom the consciousness of friend- 
less obscurity presses to the earth, and wounds to 
the soul ! 

Even the fairest of his virtues are against him. 
That independent spirit, and that ingenuous mo- 
desty, qualities inseparable from a noble mind, 
are, with the million, circumstances not a little 
disqualifying. What pleasure is in the power of 
the fortunate and the happy, by their notice and 
patronage, to brighten the countenance and glad 
the heart of such depressed youth ! I am not so 
angry with mankind for their dei^f economy of 
the purse: — The goods of this world cannot be 
divided, without being lessened — but why be a 
niggard of that w^hich bestows bliss on a fellow- 
creature, yet takes nothing from our own means 
of enjoyment? We wrap ourselves up in the cloak 
of our own better-fortune, and turn away our eyes, 
lest the wants and woes of our brother- mortals 
should disturb the selfish apathy of our souls! 

I am the worst hand in the world at asking a 
favour. That indirect address, that insinuating 
implication, which, without any positive request, 
plainly expresses your w^ish, is a talent not to be 
acquired at a plough-tail. Tell me then, for you 
can, in what periphrasis of language, in what cir- 
cumvolution of phrase, I shall envelope, yet not 
conceal, this plain story. — * My dear Mr. Tait, 
my friend Mr. Duncan, whom I have the plea- 
sure of introducing to you, is a young lad of your 
own profession, and a gentleman of much modesty 
and great worth. Perhaps it may be in your 
power to assist him in the, to him, important con- 



{ 487 ) 

sideration of getting a place; but at all events, 
your notice and acquaintance will be a very great 
acquisition to him; and I dare pledge myself that 
he will nevei' disgrace your favour.' 

You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a 
letter from me ; 'tis, I own, in the usual way of 
calculating these matters, more than our acquaint- 
ance entitles me to ; but my answer is short : Of 
all the men at your time of life, whom I knew in 
Edinburgh, you are the most accessible on the 
side on which I have assailed you. You are very 
much altered indeed from what j^ou were when I 
knew you, if generosity point the path you will 
not tread, or humanity call to you in vain. 

As to myself, a being to whose interest I be- 
lieve you are still a well-wisher; I am here, 
breathing at all times, thinking sometimes, and 
rhyming now and then. Every situation has its 
share of the cares and pains of life, and my situ- 
ation, I am persuaded, has a full ordinary allow- 
ance of its pleasures and enjoyments. 

My best compliments to your father and Miss 
Tait. If you have an opportunity, please re- 
member me in the solemn league and covenant of 
friendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay. I am a wretch 
for not writing her; but I am so hackneyed with 
self-accusation in that way ; that my conscience 
lies in my bosom with scarce the sensibility of an 
oyster in its shell. Where is lady M*Kenzie? 
wherever she is, God bless her! I likewise beg 
leave to trouble you with compliments to Mr. 
William Hamilton ; Mrs. Hamilton and family ; 
and Mrs. Chalmers, when you are in that country. 



( 488 ) 

Should you meet with Miss Nimmo, please re- 
member me kindly to her. 



No. 290. 

TO 

Dear Sir, 

Whether in the way of my trade, 
I can be of any service to the Rev. Doctor,* is I 
fear very doubtful. Ajax's shield consisted, I 
think, of seven bull hides and a plate of brass, 
which altogether set Hector's utmost force at de- 
fiance. Alas ! I am not a Hector, and the worthy 
Doctor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was. 
Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, ma- 
levolence, self-conceit, envy — all strongly bound 
in a massy frame of brazen impudence. Good 
God, Sir ! to such a shield, humour is the peck 
of a sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a school- 
boy. Creation-disgracing scelerats such as they, 
God can only mend, and the Devil only can 
punish. In the comprehending way of Caligula, 
I wish they had all but one neck. I feel impo- 
tent as a child to the ardour of my wishes ! O for 
a withering curse, to blast the germins of their 
wicked machinations. O for a poisonous Tornado, 
winged from the Torrid Zone of Tartarus, to 
sweep the spreading crop of their villainous con- 
trivances to the lowest hell ! 

* Dr. M'GiU, of Ayr. 



{ 489 ) 

No. 291. 

TO MR. ALEXANDER DALZIEL, 

FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON, 

EUisland, March igtk, 1791. 

My dear Sir, 

I HAVE taken the liberty to frank this 
letter to you, as it incloses an idle poem of mine, 
which I send you; and, God knows, you may 
perhaps pay dear enough for it, if you read it 
through. Not that this is my own opinion ; but 
an author, by the time he has composed and cor- 
rected his works, has quite pored away all his 
powers of critical discrimination. 

I can easily guess from my own heart, what you 
have felt on a late most melancholy event. God 
knows what I have suffered, at the loss of my best 
friend, my first, my dearest patron and benefactor ; 
the man to whom I owe all that I am and have I 
I am gone into mourning for him, and with more 
sincerity of grief than I fear some will, who by 
nature's ties ought to feel on the occasion. 

I will be exceedingly obliged to you indeed, to 
let me know the news of the noble family, how 
the poor mother and the two sisters support their 
loss. I had a packet of poetic bagatelles ready to 
send to lady Betty, when I saw the fatal tidings 
in the newspaper. I see by the same channel that 
the honoured remains of my noble patron, are 
designed to be brought to the family burial place> 

3 R 



( 490 ) 

Dare I trouble you to let me know privately be- 
fore the day of interment, that I may cross the 
country, and steal among the crowd, to pay a 
tear to the last sight of my ever revered bene- 
factor ? It will oblige me beyond expression. 



No. 292. 
TO MR. THOMAS SLOAN, 

CARE OF WM. KENNEDY, ESQ. MANCHESTER. 

Ellisland, Sep. 1st, 1791. 

My dear Sloan, 

ISUSPENCE is worse than disappoint- 
ment ; for that reason I hurry to tell you, that I 
just now learn that Mr. Ballantine does not chuse 
to interfere more in the business. I am truly 
sorry for it, but cannot help it. 

You blame me for not writing you sooner, but 
you will please to recollect, that you omitted one 
little necessary piece of information, — your ad- 
dress. 

However, you know equally well, my hurried 
life, indolent temper, and strength of attachment 
It must be a longer period than the longest life 
* in the world's 4iale and undegenerate days,' that 
will make me forget so dear a friend as Mr. Sloan. 
I am prodigal enough at times, but I will not 
part with such a treasure as that. 

I can easily enter into the embarras of your 
present situation. You know my favourite quo- 
tation from Young — 



( 491 ) 

On Reason build resolve, 



That column of true majesty in man. — 

And that other favourite one from Thomson's 
Alfred— 

' What proves the hero truly great. 
Is, never, never to despair/ 

Or, shall I quote you an author of your ac- 
quaintance ? 

' — Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by — persevering.' 

I have nothing new to tell you. The few 
friends we have are going on in the old way. I 
sold my crop on this day se'nnight, and sold it 
very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, 
above value. But such a scene of drunkenness 
was hardly ever seen in this country. After the 
roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a 
battle, every man for his own hand, and fought it 
out for three hours. Nor was the scene much 
better in the house. No fighting, indeed, but 
folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, 
until both my dogs got so drunk, by attending 
them, that they could not stand. You will easily 
guess how I enjoyed the scene ; as I was no far- 
ther over than you used to see me. 

Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire these 
many weeks. 

Farewell ! and God bless you, my dear friend ! 



( 492 ) 

No. 29S. 
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ. R A. S. 

1792. 
Sir, 

1 BELIEVE among all our Scots literati 
you have not met with professor Diigald Stewart, 
who fills the moral philosophy chair in the uni- 
versity of Edinburgh. To say that he is a man 
of the first parts, and what is more, a man of the 
first worth, to a gentleman of your general ac- 
quaintance, and who so much enjoys the luxury 
of unincumbered freedom and undisturbed pri- 
vacy, is not perhaps recommendation enough : 
but when I inform you that Mr. Stewart's prin- 
cipal characteristic is your favourite feature; that 
sterling independence of mind, which, though 
every man's right, so few men have the courage 
to claim, and fewer still the magnanimity to sup- 
port: — When I tell you, that, unseduced by 
splendour, and undisgusted by wretchedness, he 
appreciates the merits of the various actors in the 
great drama of life, merely as they perform their 
parts — in short, he is a man after your own heart, 
and I comply with his earnest request in letting 
you know that he wishes above all things to meet 
with you. His house, Catrine, is within less 
than a mile of Sorn castle, which you proposed 
visiting; or if you could transmit him the in- 
closed, he would, wdth the greatest pleasure, meet 
you any where in the neighbourhood. I write to 
Ayrshire to inform Mr, Stewait that I have ac- 



( 493 ) 

quitted myself of my promise. Should your time 
and spirits permit your meeting with Mr. Stewart, 
'tis well ; if not, I hope you will forgive this liberty, 
and I have at least an opportunity of assuring you 
with what truth and respect, 

I am, Sir, 
Your great admirer, and very humble servant 



No. 294, 
TO THE SAME 



Sir, 

Among the many witch stories I have 
heard relating to Alloway kirk, I distinctly re- 
member only two or three. 

Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of 
wind, and bitter blasts of hail; in short, on such 
a night as the devil would chuse to take the air 
in ; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding and 
plashing homeward with his plough irons on his 
shoulder, having been getting some repairs on 
them at a neighbouring smithy. His way lay by 
the kirk of Alloway, and being rather on the 
anxious look out, in approaching a place so well 
known to be a favourite haunt of the devil and 
the deviFs friends and emissaries, he was struck 
aghast by discovering through the horrors of the 
storm and stormy night, a light, which on his 
near approach, plainly shewed itself to proceed 
from the haunted edifice. Whether he had been 
fortified from above, on his devout supplication, 



( 494 ) 

as is customary with people when they suspect 
the immediate presence of Satan ; or whether, ac- 
cording to another custom, he had got courage- 
ously drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to 
determine ; but so it was, that he ventured to go 
up to, nay into the very kirk. As good luck 
would have it, his temerity came off unpunished. 

The members of the infernal junto were all out 
on some midnight business or other, and he saw 
nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, depend- 
ing from the roof, over the fire, simmering some 
heads of unchristened children, limbs of executed 
malefactors, &c. for the business of the night. — ^It 
was, in for a penny, in for a pound, wdth the 
honest ploughman : so, without ceremony, he un- 
hooked the caldron from off the fire, and poured 
out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on his 
head, and carried it fairly home, where it remain- 
ed long in the family, a living evidence of the 
truth of the story. 

Another story which I can prove to be equally 
authentic, was as follows : 

On a market day, in the town of Ayr, a far- 
mer from Carrick, and consequently whose way 
lay by the very gate of AUoway kirk-yard, in 
order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, 
which is about two or three hundred yards fur- 
ther on than the said gate, had been detained by 
his business, 'till by the time he reached Allowa^ it 
was the wizard hour, between night and morning. 

Though he was terrified, with a blaze stream- 
ing from the kirk, yet as it is a well-known fact 
that to turn back on these occasions is running by 
far the greatest risk of miscliief, he prudently ad- 



( 495 ) 

vanced on his road. When he had reached the 
gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprised and enter- 
tained, through the ribs and arches of an old 
gothic window, which still faces the high-way, to 
see a dance of witches, merrily footing it round 
their old sooty blackguard master, who was keep- 
ing them all alive with the power of his bagpipe. 
The farmer stopping his horse to observe them a 
little, could plainly descry the faces of many old 
women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. 
How the gentleman w^as dressed, tradition does 
not say; but the ladies were all in their smocks: 
and one of them happening unluckily to have a 
smock which was considerably too short to answer 
all the purpose of that piece of dress, our farmer 
w^as so tickled, that he involuntarily burst out, 
with a loud laugh, ' Weel luppen Maggy wi' the 
short sark !' and recollecting himself, instantly 
spurred his horse to the top of his speed. 1 need 
not mention the universally known fact, that no 
diabolical power can pursue you beyond the mid- 
dle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the 
poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for 
notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which was 
a good one, against he reached the middle of the 
arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of 
the stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags, w ere so 
close at his heels, that one of them actually sprung 
to seize him ; but it was too late, nothing was on 
her side of the stream but the horse's tail, which 
immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if 
blasted by a stroke of lightning; but the farmer 
was beyond her reach. However, the unsightly, 
tail-less condition of the vigorous steed was to the 



( 496 ) 

last hour of the noble creature's life, an awful 
warning to the Carriek farmers, not to stay too 
late in Ayr markets. 

The last relation I shall give, though equally 
true, is not so well identified as the two former, 
with regard to the scene : but as the best autho- 
rities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it. 

On a summer's evening, about the time that 
nature puts on her sables to mourn the expiry of 
the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging to a 
farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of Allo- 
way kirk, had just folded his charge, and was re- 
turning home. As he passed the kirk, in the 
adjoining field, he fell in wdth a crew of men and 
women, who were busy pulling stems of the plant 
Ragwort. He observed, that as each person pull- 
ed a Ragwort, he or she got astride of it, and call- 
ed out, * up, horsje !' on which the Ragwort flew 
off, like Pegasus, through the air with its rider. 
The foolish boy likewise pulled his Ragwort, and 
cried, with the rest, * up, horsie !* and, strange to 
tell, aw^ay he flew with the company. The first 
stage at which the cavalcade stopt, was a mer- 
chant's wine cellar in Bourdeaux, where, without 
saying, by your leave, they quaffed away at the 
best the cellar could afford, until the morning, foe 
to the imps and works of darkness, threatened to 
throw light on the matter, and frightened them 
from their carousals. 

The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stran- 
ger to the scene and the liquor, heedlessly got 
himself drunk ; and when the rest took horse, he 
fell asleep, and was found so next day by some of 
the people belonging to the merchant. Somebody 



( 497 ) 

that understood Scotch, asking him what he was, 
he said he was such-a-one's herd in Alloway, and 
by some means or other getting home again, he 
lived long to tell the world the wondrous tale. 

I am, kc. &c. 



No. 295. 
TO R. GRAHAxM, ESQ. FINTRY. 

December, 1792- 

Sir, 

Jl HAV^E been surprised, confounded, 
and distracted, by jNIr. Mitchell, the collector, 
telling me that he has received an order from your 
board to enquire into my political conduct, and 
blaming me as a person disaffected to government. 
Sir, you are a husband — and a father. — You know 
what you would feel, to see the much-loved wife 
of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling little 
ones, turned adrift into the world, degraded and 
disgraced from a situation in which they had been 
respectable and respected, and left almost without 
the necessary support of a miserable existence. 
Alas, Sir ! must I think that such, soon, will be 
my lot! and from the d-mn-d, dark insinuations 
of hellish, groundless envy too ! I believe. Sir, I 
may aver it, and in the sight of omniscience, that 
I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not 
though even worse horrors, if worse can be, than 
those I have mentioned, hung over my head ; and 
I say, that the allegation, whatever villain has 

3 S 



( 498 ) 

made it, is a lie ! To the British constitution, on 
revolution principles, next after my God, I am 
most devoutly attached! You, Sir, have been 
much and generously my friend. — Heaven knows 
how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how 
gratefully I have thanked you. — Fortune, Sir, has 
made you powerful, and me impotent ; has given 
you patronage, and me dependance. — I would not, 
for my single self, call on your humanity ; were 
such my insular, unconnected situation, I would 
despise the tear that now swells in my eye — I 
could brave misfortune, I could face ruin ; for at 
the worst, 'Death's thousand doors stand open;' 
but, good God ! the tender concerns that I have 
mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this 
moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve 
courage, and wither resolution ! To your patron- 
age, as a man of some genius, you have allov^ed 
me a claim ; and your esteem, as an honest man, 
I know is my due : To these. Sir, permit me to 
appeal; by these may I adjure you to save me 
from that misery which threatens to overwhelm 
me, and which, with my latest breath I will say 
it, I have not deserved. 



No. 296. 
TO MR. T. CLARKE EDINBURGH. 

July l6tk, 1792. 

JMr. burns begs leave to present his 
most respectful compliments to Mr. Clarke — Mr. 



( 499 ) 

B. some time ago did himself the honour of writing 
Mr. C. respecting coming out to the country, to 
give a little musical instruction in a highly re- 
spectable family, where Mr. C. may have his own 
terms, and may be as happy as indolence, the 
devil, and the gout, Avill permit him. jNlr. B. 
knows well how Mr. C. is engaged with another 
family ; but cannot Mr. C. find two or three weeks 
to spare to each of them ? Mr. B. is deeply im- 
pressed with, and awfully conscious of, the high 
importance of Mr. C.'s time, whether in the wing- 
ed moments of symphonious exhibition, at the 
keys of harmony, while listening seraphs cease 
their own less delightful strains; — or in the 
drowsy hours of slumb'rous repose, in the arms of 
his dearly-beloved elbow-chair, where the frowsy, 
but potent power of indolence, circumfuses her 
vapours round, and sheds her dews on, the head 
of her darling son. — But half a line, conveying 
half a meaning, from Mr. C. w^ould make Mr. B, 
the very happiest of mortals. 



No. 297. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Bee. Slsi, 1792. 

Dear Madam, 

A, HURRY of business, thrown in heaps 
by my absence, has until now prevented my re- 
turning my grateful acknowledgments to the 
good family of Dunlop, and you in particular, for 



( 500 ) 

that hospitable kindness which rendered the four 
days I spent under that genial roof, four of the 
pleasantest I ever enjoyed. — Alas, my dearest 
friend ! how few and fleeting are those things we 
call pleasures ! On my road to Ayrshire, I spent 
a night with a friend whom I much valued, a man 
whose days promised to be many ; and on Satur- 
day last we laid him in the dust ! 

Jan. 2(1, 1793. 

I HAVE just received yours of the 30th, and 
feel much for your situation. However, I heartily 
rejoice in your prospect of recovery from that vile 
jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not 
quite free of my complaint. — You must not think, 
as you seem to insinuate, that in my way of life I 
want exercise. Of that I have enough ; but occa- 
sional hard drinking is the devil to me. Against 
this 1 have again and again bent my resolution, 
and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have 
totally abandoned : it is the private parties in the 
family way, among the hard drinking gentlemen 
of this country, that do me the mischief — but 
even this, 1 have more than half given over. 

Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at pre- 
sent; at least I should be shy of applying. I can- 
not possibly be settled as a supervisor, for several 
years. I must wait the rotation of the list, and 
there are twenty names before mine. — I might in- 
deed get a job of officiating, where a settled 
supervisor was ill, or aged ; but that hauls me 
from my family, as I could not remove them on 
such an uncertainty. Besides, some envious, ma- 
licious devil, has raised a little demur on my politic 



( 501 ) 

eal principles, and I wish to let that matter settle 
before I offer myself too much in the eye of my 
supervisors. 1 have set, henceforth, a seal on my 
lips, as to these unlucky politics; but to you, I 
must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in every 
thing else, I shall shew the undisguised emotions 
of my soul. War I deprecate: misery and ruin 
to thousands are in the blast that announces the 
destructive demon. But * * * * 

The remainder of this letter has been torn away by some bar- 
barous hand. 



No. 298. 
-^ TO PATRICK MILLER, ESQ. 
OF DALSWINTON. 

April, 1793. 

Sir, 

J^XY poems having just come out in an- 
other edition, will you do me the honour to accept 
of a copy ? A mark of my gratitude to you, as a 
gentleman to whose goodness I have been much 
indebted ; of my respect for you, as a patriot w^ho, 
in a venal, sliding age, stands forth the champion 
of the liberties of my country ; and of my vene- 
ration for you, as a man, whose benevolence of 
heart does honour to human nature. 

There \£as a time. Sir, when I was your de- 
pendant: this language then would have been 
like the vile incense of flattery — I could not have 



{ 502 ) 

used it. — Now that connection is at an end, do 
me the honour to accept of this honest tribute of 
respect from, Sir, 

Your much indebted, humble Servant. 



No. 299. 
TO JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE, ESQ. OF MAR. 

Dumfries, loth April, 17.93. 

Sir, 

Degenerate: as human nature is 
said to be, and, in many instances, worthless and 
unprincipled it is, still there are bright examples 
to the contrary — examples that, even in the eyes 
of superior beings, must shed a lustre on the name 
of man. 

Such an example have I now before me, when 
you. Sir, came forward to patronize and befriend 
a distant obscure stranger, merely because poverty 
had made him helpless, and his British hardihood 
of mind had provoked the arbitrary wantonness of 
power. My much esteemed friend, Mr. Riddel 
of Glenriddel, has just read me a paragraph of a 
letter he had from you. Accept, Sir, of the 
silent throb of gratitude; for words would but 
mock the emotions of my soul. 

A"ou have been misinformed as to my final dis- 
mission from the excise ; I am still in the service. 
— Indeed, but for the exertions of a gentleman, 
who must be known to you, Mr. Graham, of 
Fintry, a gentleman who has ever been my warm 



( 503 ) 

and generous friend, I had, without so much as a 
hearing, or the sHghtest previous intimation, been 
turned adrift, with my helpless family, to all the 
horrors of want. Had I had any other resource, 
probably I might have saved them the trouble of 
a dismission ; but the little money I gained by my 
publication, is almost every guinea embarked, to 
save from ruin an only brother, who, though one 
of the worthiest is by no means one of the most 
fortunate of men. 

In my defence to their accusations I said, that 
whatever might be my sentiments of republics, 
ancient or modern, as to Britain, I abjured the 
idea — That a coxstitutiox, w4iich, in its ori- 
ginal principles, experience had proved to be 
every way fitted for our happiness in society, it 
would be insanitv to sacrifice to an untried vision- 
ary theory ; — that, in consideration of my being- 
situated in a department, liowever humble, im- 
mediately in the hands of people in power, I had 
forborne taking any active part, either personally, 
or as an author, in the present business of re- 
form. But that, where 1 must declare my sen- 
timents, I would say, there existed a system of 
corruption between the executive power and the 
representative part of the legislature, which boded 
no good to our glorious constitution, and which 
every patriotic Briton must wish to see amended. 
— Some such sentiments as these 1 stated in a let- 
ter to my generous patron, Mr, Graham, which 
he laid before the board at large ; w^here, it seems, 
my last remark gave great offence ; and one of 
our supervisors general, a Mr. Corbet, was in- 
structed to inquire on the spot, and to document 



( 504 ) 

me—* that my business was to act, not to think ; 
and that whatever might be men or measures, it 
was for me to be silent and obedient.' 

Mr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend ; so, 
between Mr. Graham and him, I have been partly 
forgiven ; only I understand, that all hopes of my 
getting officially forward, are blasted. 

Now, Sir, to the business in which I w^ould 
more immediately interest you. The partiality of 
my COUNTRYMEN has brought me forward as a 
man of genius, and has given me a character to 
support. In the poet, I have avowed manly and 
independent sentiments, which I trust will be 
found in the man. Reasons, of no less weight 
than the support of a wife and family, have point- 
ed out as the eligible, and, situated as I was, the 
only eligible line of life for me, my present occu- 
pation. Still my honest fame is my dearest con- 
cern ; and a thousand times have I trembled at 
the idea of those degrading epithets that malice 
or misrepresentation m.ay affix to my name. I 
have often, in blasting anticipation, listened to 
some future hackney scribbler, with the heavy 
malice of savage stupidity, exulting in his hire- 
ling paragraphs — 'Burns, notwithstanding the 
faiifaronade of independence to be found in his 
works, and after having been held forth to public 
view, and to public estimation as a man of some 
genius, yet, quite destitute of resources within 
himself to support his borrowed dignity, he dwin- 
dled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the 
rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest of 
pursuits, and among the vilest of mankind.' 



( 505 ) 

In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to 
lodge my disavowal and defiance of these slander-- 
ous falsehoods. — Burns was a poor man from 
birth, and an exciseman by necessity: but — / 
will say it ! the sterling of his honest worth, no 
poverty could debase; and his independent Bri- 
tish mind, oppression might bend, but could not 
subdue. Have not I, to me, a more precious 
stake in my country's welfare, than the richest 
dukedom in it ? I have a large family of children, 
and the prospect of many more. I have three 
sons, who, I see already, have brought into the 
world souls ill qualified to inhabit the bodies of 
SLAVES. Can I look tamely on, and see any 
machination to wrest from them the birth-right 
of my boys, the little independent britons, in 
whose veins runs my own blood? — No! I will 
not! should my heart's blood stream around my 
attempt to defend it ! 

Does any man tell me, that my full efforts can 
be of no service ; and that it does not belong to 
my humble station to meddle with the concern of 
a nation ? 

I can tell him, that it is on such individuals as 
1 that a nation has to rest, both for the hand of 
support, and the eye of inteUigence. The unin- 
formed MOB may swell a nation's bulk ; and the 
titled, tinsel, courtly throng, may be its feathered 
ornament; but the number of those who are ele- 
vated enough in life to reason and to reflect, yet 
low enough to keep clear of the venal contagion 
of a court — these are a nation's strength. 

I know not how to apologize for the imperti- 
nent length of this epistle ; but one small request 
22 3 T 



( 506 ) 

I must ask of you farther — When you have 
honoured this letter with a perusal, please to com- 
mit it to the flames. Burns, in whose behalf 
you have so generously interested yourself, I have 
here, in his native colours drawn as he is: but 
should any of the people in whose hand is the 
very bread he eats, get the least knowledge of the 
picture, it would ruin the poor BAnD Jbr ever! 

My poems having just come out in another 
edition, I beg leave to present you with a copy, 
as a small mark of that high esteem and ardent 
gratitude, with which I have the honour to be, 
Sir, your deeply indebted. 

And ever devoted humble Servant. 



No. 300. 
TO MR, ROBERT AINSLIE. 

April 26tky 1793. 

X AM d-mnably out of humour, my dear 
Ainslie, and that is the reason why I take up 
the pen to you: 'tis the nearest way, (probatum 
est) to recover my spirits again. 

I received your last, and was much entertained 
with it; but I will not at this time, nor at any 
other time answer it. — Answer a letter? 1 never 
could answer a letter in my life ! — I have written 
many a letter in return for letters 1 have received ; 
but then — they were original matter — spurtaway ! 
zig, here; zag, there; as if the devil that, my 
flcrannie (an old woman indeed!) often told me, 



( 507 ) 

rode in \vill-o'-wisp, or, in her more classic phrase, 
Spunkie, were looking over my elbow. — Happy 
thought that idea has engendered in my head! 
Spunkie — thou shalt henceforth be my symbol, 
signature, and tutelary genius ! Like thee, hap- 
step-and lowp, here-awa-there-awa, higglety, pig- 
gelty, pell-mell, hither-and-yon, ram-stam, happy- 
go-lucky, up tails-a'-by-the-light-o'-the-moon ; has 
been, is, and shall be, my progress through the 
mosses and moors of this vile, bleak, barren wil- 
derness of a life of ours. 

Come then, my guardian spirit ; like thee, may 
I skip away, amusing myself by and at my own 
light : and if any opaque-souled lubber of man- 
kind complain that my elfine, lambent, glimmer- 
ous wanderings have misled his stupid steps over 
precipices, or into bogs; let the thick headed 
blunderbuss recollect, that he is not Spunkie : — 
that 

Spunkie's wanderings could not copied be ; 
Amid these perils none durst walk but he. — 



1 have no doubt but scholarcraft may be caught 
as a Scotsman catches the itch, — by friction. 
How else can you account for it, that born block- 
heads, by mere dint of handling books, grow so 
wise that even they themselves are equally con- 
vinced of, and surprised at their own parts? I 
once carried this philosophy to that degree, that 
in a knot of country folks, who had a library 
amongst them, and who, to the honour of their 
good sense, made me factotum in the business; 
one of our members, a little, wise-looking, squat. 



{ 508 ) 

upright, jabbering body of a taylor, I advised him, 
instead of turning over the leaves, to hind the book 
on Ms back. — Johnnie took the hint ; and as our 
meetings were every fourth Saturday, and prick- 
louse, having a good Scots mile to walk, in 
coming, and, of course, another in returning, 
bodkin was sure to lay his hands on some heavy 
quarto, or ponderous folio; with, and under which, 
wrapt up in his grey plaid, he grew wise, as he 
grew weary, all the way home. He carried this 
so far, that an old musty Hebrew concordance, 
which we had in a present from a neighbouring 
priest, by mere dint of applying it, as doctors do 
a blistering plaister, between his shoulders, stitch, 
in a dozen pilgrimages, acquired as much rational 
theology as the said priest had done by forty years 
perusal of the pages. 

Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think of 
this theory. Yours, 

SPUNKIE, 



No. 301 
TO MISS K — 



Madam, 

JlERMIT me to present you with the 
inclosed song, as a small, though grateful tribute 
for the honour of your acquaintance. I have, in 
these verses, attempted some faint sketches of 
your portrait, in the unembellished simple man- 



( 509 ) 

ner of descriptive truth. — Flattery, I leave to 
your LOVERS, whose exaggerating fancies may 
make them imagine you still nearer perfection 
than you really are. 

Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forci- 
bly the powers of beauty ; as, if they are really 
POETS of nature's making, their feelings must be 
finer, and their taste more delicate than most of 
the world. In the cheerful bloom of spring, or 
the pensive mildness of autumn ; the grandeur of 
SUMMER, or the hoary majesty of winter ; the 
poet feels a charm unknown to the rest of his 
species. Even the sight of a fine flower, or the 
company of a fine woman, (by far the finest part 
of God's works below) have sensations for the 
poetic heart that the herd of man are strangers 
to. — On this last account. Madam, I am, as in 
many other things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's 
kindness in introducing me to you. Your lovers 
may view you with a wish, I look on you with 
pleasure; their hearts, in your presence, may 
glow with desire, mine rises with admiration. 

That the arrows of misfortune, however they 
should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight 
wound, may never reach your heart — that the 
snares of villainy may never beset you in the road 
of life — that innocence may hand you by the 
path of HONOUR to the dwelling of peace, is the 
sincere wish of him who has the honour to be, &c. 



( 510 



No. 302. 
TO LADY GLENCAIRN. 
Mv Lady, 

A HE honour you have done your poor 
poet, in writing him so very obliging a letter, and 
the pleasure the inclosed beautiful verses have 
given him, came very seasonably to his aid amid 
the cheerless gloom and sinking despondency of 
diseased nerves and December weather. As to 
forgetting the family of Glencairn, heaven is my 
witness with what sincerity I could use those old 
verses, which please me more in their rude sim- 
plicity than the most elegant lines I ever saw. 

If thee Jerusalem I forget. 

Skill part from my right hand. — 

My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, 

If I do thee forget, 
Jerusalem, and thee above 

My chief joy do not set. — 

When I am tempted to do any thing improper, 
I dare not, because I look on myself as account- 
able to your ladyship and family. Now and then, 
when I have the honour to be called to the tables 
of the great, if I happen to meet with any morti- 
fication from the stately stupidity of self-sufficient 
squires, or the luxuriant insolence of upstart na- 
bobs, I get above the creatures by calling to re- 
membrance that I am patronised by the noble 
house of Glencairn; and at gala-times, such as^ 
New-year's day* a christening, or the kirn-night. 



i 



( 511 ) 

when my punch bowl is brought from its dusty 
corner, and filled up in honour of the occasion, I 
begin with, — The countess of Glencairn! My 
good woman, with the enthusiasm of a grateful 
heart, next cries, My lord ! and so the toast goes 
on, until I end with lady Harriet's little angel! 
whose epithalamium I have pledged myself to 
write. 

When I received your ladyship's letter, I was 
just in the act of transcribing for you some verses 
I have lately composed ; and meant to have sent 
them my first leisure hour, and acquainted you 
with my late change of life. I mentioned to my 
lord, my fears concerning my farm. Those fears 
were indeed too true ; it is a bargain would have 
ruined me, but for the lucky circumstance of my 
having an excise commission. 

People may talk as they please, of the ignominy 
of the excise : £50 a year will support my w ife 
and children and keep me independent of the 
world; and 1 would much rather have it said 
that my profession borrowed credit from me, than 
that I borrowed credit from my profession. An- 
other advantage I have in this business, is the 
knowledge it gives me of the various shades of 
human character, consequently assisting me vastly 
in my poetic pursuits. I had the most ardent en- 
thusiasm for the muses when nobody knew me, 
but myself, and that ardour is by no means cooled 
now that my lord Glencairn's goodness has intro- 
duced me to all the world. Not that I am in 
haste for the press. I have no idea of publishing, 
else 1 certainly had consulted my generous noble 
patron; but after acting the part of an honest 



( 512 ) 

man, and supporting my family, my whole wishes 
and views are directed to poetic pursuits. I am 
aware, that though I were to give performances 
to the world, superior to my former works, still 
if they were of the same kind with those, the 
comparative reception they would meet with 
would mortify me. I have turned my thoughts 
on the drama. I do not mean the stately buskin 
of the tragic muse. 

Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh 
theatre would be more amused with affectation, 
folly and whim of true Scottish growth, than 
manners which by far the greatest part of the 
audience can only know at second hand ? 
I have the honour to be 

Your ladyship's ever devoted 

And grateful humble Servant. 



No. 303. 

TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 

Wiih a copy of ' Bruce' s Address to his Troops at Baft- 
nock-burn.' 

Dumfries, \9.tk Jan. 179^- 

My Lord, 

TT ILL your lordship allow me to pre- 
sent you with the inclosed little composition of 
mine, as a small tribute of gratitude for that ac- 
quaintance with which you have been pleased to 
honour me. Independent of my enthusiasm as a 



( 513 ) 

Scotsman, I have rarely met with any thing in 
history, which interest my feelings as a man, 
equal with the story of Bannock-burn. On the 
one hand, a cruel, but able usurper, leading on 
the finest army in Europe to extinguish the last 
spark of freedom among a greatly-daring, and 
greatly-injured people: on the other hand, the 
desperate relics of a gallant nation, devoting 
themselves to rescue their bleeding country, or 
perish with her. 

Liberty ! thou art a prize truly, and indeed 
invaluable! — for never canst thou be too dearly 
bought ! 

I have the honour to be, ^c. 



No. 304. 
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

My Lord, 

W HEN you cast your eye on the name 
at the bottom of this letter, and on the title page 
of the book I do myself the honour to send your 
lordship, a more pleasurable feeling than my 
vanity tells me, that it must be a name not en- 
tirely unknown to you. The generous patronage 
of your late illustrious brother found me in the 
lowest obscuritv : he introduced my rustic muse 
to the partiality of my country ; and to him I owe 
all. ]My sense of his goodness, and tlie anguish 
of my soul at losing my truly noble protector 
and friend, I havev endeavoured to express in a 



I 



( 514 ) 

poem to his memory, which I have now publish- 
ed. This edition is just from the press; and in 
my gratitude to the dead and my respect for the 
living, (fame belies you, my lord, if you possess 
not the same dignity of man, which was your 
noble brother's characteristic feature) I had des- 
tined a copy for the earl of Glencairn. I learnt 
just now that you are in town : — allow me to pre- 
sent it you. 

I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal conta- 
gion which pervades the world of letters, that 
professions of respect from an author, particularly 
from a poet to a lord, are more than suspicious. 
I claim my by-past conduct, and my feelings at 
this moment, as exceptions to the too just con- 
clusion. Exalted as are the honours of your lord- 
ship's name, and unnoted as is the obscurity of 
mine, with the uprightness of an honest man I 
come before your lordship, with an offering, how- 
ever humble, 'tis all I have to give, of my grate- 
ful respect; and to beg of you, my lord, 'tis all I 
have to ask of you, that you will do me the honour 
to accept of it. 

I have the honour to be, ^c. 



No. 305. 

TO DK ANDERSON 

Sir, 

J. AM much indebted to my worthy 
iriend. Dr. Blacklock, for introducing me to a 



( 515 ) 

gentleman of Dr. Anderson's celebrity ; but when 
you do me the honour to ask my assistance in 
your purposed publication, alas, Sir ! you might 
as well think to cheapen a little honesty at the 
sign of an advocate's wig, or humility under the 
geneva band. I am a miserable hurried devil, 
worn to the marrow in the friction of holding the 
noses of the poor publicans to the grindstone of 
excise; and, like Milton's Satan, for private rea- 
sons, am forced 

* To do what yet, tho' damn'd, I would abhor ;' 

— and except a couplet or two of honest execra- 
tion ******* 



No. 306. 
TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

Castle Douglas, 25th June, 1794. 

JUERE in a solitary inn, in a solitary 
village, am I set by myself, to amuse my brood- 
ing fancy as 1 may. — Solitary confinement, you 
know, is Howard's favourite idea of reclaiming 
sinners; so let me consider by what fatality it 
happens, that I have so long been exceeding sin- 
ful as to neglect the correspondence of the most 
valued friend I have on earth. To tell you that 
I have been in poor health, will not be excuse 
enough, though it is true. I am afraid I am 
about to suffer for the follies of my youth. My 
medical friends threaten me with a flying gout; 
but I trust they are mistaken. 



{ 516 ) 

I am just going to trouble your critical patience 
with the first sketch of a stanza I have been fra- 
ming as 1 paced along the road. The subject is 
liberty: You know, my honoured friend, how 
dear the theme is to me. I design it an irregular 
ode for General Washington's birth-day. After 
having mentioned the degeneracy of other king- 
doms, I come to Scotland thus : 

* Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among/ &c. 

See Poems, p. 324. 

You will probably have another scrawl from 
me in a stage or two. 



No. 307. 
TO MR. JAMES JOHNSON. 

My DEAll FllIENl), 

jL OU should have heard from me long 
ago ; but over and above some vexatious share in 
the pecuniary losses of these accursed times I have 
all this winter been plagued with low spirits and 
blue devils, so that / have almost Imng my harp 
on the willow trees. 

1 am just now busy correcting a new edition of 
my poems ; and this, with my ordinary business, 
finds me in full employment."^ 



^ Burns's anxiety with regard to the correctness of his wri- 
tings was very great. Being questioned as to his mode of 
composition, he replied, 'All my poetry is the effect of easy 
composition, but of laborious correction' 



( 517 ) 

1 send you, by my friend JNIr. Wallace, forty 
one songs for your fifth volume; if we cannot 
finish it any other way,, what would you think of 
Scots words to some beautiful Irish airs? In the 
mean time, at your leisure, give a copy of the 
IMuseum to my worthy friend Mv. Peter Hill, 
bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with blank 
leaves, exactly as he did the laird of Glen riddel's, 
that T may insert every anecdote I can learn, to- 
gether with my own criticisms and remarks on 
the songs. — A copy of this kind 1 shall leave with 
you, the editor, to publish at some after period, 
by way of making the Museum a book famous to 
the end of time, and you renowned for ever. 

I have got an Highland dirk, for which I have 
great veneration ; as it once w^as the dirk of lord 
Balmerino. It fell into bad hands, who stripped 
it of the silver mounting, as w'ell as the knife and 
fork. I have some thoughts of sending it to your 
care, to get it mounted anew\ 

Thank you for the copies of my Volunteer Bal- 
lad. — Our friend Clarke has done indeed well ! 'tis 
chaste and beautiful. I have not met with any 
thing that has pleased me so much. You know, 
I am no connoisseur; but that I am an amateur 
will be allowed me. 



( 518 ) 

No. 308. 
TO MISS FONTENELLE. 

Accompanying a Prologue to be spoken for her Benefit 
Madam, 

XN such a bad world as ours, those who 
add to the scanty sum of our pleasures, are posi- 
tively our benefactors. To you, Madam, on our 
humble Dumfries boards, I have been more in- 
debted for entertainment than ever I was in 
prouder theatres. Your charms, as a woman, 
would insure applause to the most indifferent 
actress, and your theatrical talents would insure 
admiration to the plainest figure. This, Madam, 
is not the unmeaning, or insiduous compliment 
of the frivolous or interested ; I pay it from the 
same honest impulse that the sublime of nature 
excites my admiration, or her beauties give me 
delight. 

Will the foregoing lines be of any service to 
you on your approaching benefit night ? If they 
will, I shall be prouder of my muse than ever. 
They are nearly extempore: I know they have 
no great merit; but though they should add but 
little to the entertainment of the evening, they 
give me the happiness of an opportunity to de- 
clare how much I have the honour to be, &c. 



( 519 ) 

No. 309. 

TO PETER MILLER, JUN. ESQ. 

OF DALSWINTON. 

Dumfries J Nov. 1794-. 

My dear Sir, 

jL our offer is indeed truly generous, 
and most sincerely do I thank you for it; but in 
my present situation, I find that I dare not accept 
It. You well know my political sentiments ; and 
were I an insular individual, unconnected with a 
wife and a family of children, with the most fer- 
vid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my ser- 
vices : I then could and would have despised all 
consequences that might have ensued. 

My prospect in the excise is something; at 
least, it is, encumbered as I am with the welfare, 
the very existence, of near half-a-score of helpless 
individuals, what I dare not sport with. 

In the mean time, they are most welcome to 
my ode; only, let them insert it as a thing they 
have met with by accident and unknown to me. 
— Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your 
character of him I cannot doubt; if he will give 
me an address and channel by which any thing 
will come safe from those spies with which he may 
be certain that his correspondence is beset, I will 
now and then send him any bagatelle that I may 
write. In the present hurry of Europe, nothing 
but news and politics will be regarded ; but against 



( 52ro ) 

the days of peace, which heaven send soon, my 
little assistance may perhaps fill up an idle column 
of a Newspaper. I have long had it in my head 
to try my hand in tlie way of little prose essays^ 
which I propose sending into the world through 
the medium of some newspaper ; and should these 
be worth his while, to these JMr. Perry shall be 
welcome ; and all my reward shall be, his treating 
me with his paper; which, by the bye, to any 
body who has the least relish for wit, is a high 
treat indeed. 

With the most grateful esteem, I am ever, 
Dear Sir, &c. 



No. 310. 
TO GAVIN HAxMILTON, ESQ. 

Diiinfries. 

My DEAii Sill, 

It is indeed with the highest satisfaction 
that 1 congratulate you on the return of * days of 
ease, and nights of pleasure,' after the horrid hours 
of misery, in which I saw you suffering existence 
when I ^vas last in Ayrsliire. I seldom pray for 
any body. * I'm baith dead sweer, and wretched 
ill o't.' But most fervently do I beseech the great 
director of this world, that you may live long and 
be happy, but that you may live no longer than 
while you are happy. It is needless for me to 
advise you to have a reverend care of your health. 
I know you will make it a point never, at one 



( 5£1 ) 

time, to drink more than a pint of wine ; (I mean 
an English pint,) and that you will never be wit- 
ness to more than one bowl of punch at a time ; 
and that cold drams you will never more taste. I 
am well convinced too, that after drinking, per- 
haps boiling punch, you will never mount your 
horse and gallop home in a chill, late hour. — 
Above all things, as I understand you are now in 
habits of intimacy with that Boanerges of gospel 
powers, Father Auld, be earnest with him that 
he will wrestle in prayer for you, that you may 
see the vanity of vanities in trusting to, or even 
practising the carnal moral works of charity^ 
humanity, generosity, and forgiveness; things 
which you practised so flagrantly that it was evi- 
dent you delighted in them ; neglecting, or per- 
haps, profanely despising the wholesome doctrine 
of * faith without works, the only anchor of sal- 
vation.' 

A hymn of thanksgiving would, in my opinion, 
be highly becoming from you at present : and in 
my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly press it 
on you to be diligent in chanting over the two in- 
closed pieces of sacred poesy. My best compli- 
ments to Mrs. Hamilton and ^liss Kennedy. 

Yours in the L d, 

R. B. 
3 U 



( 522 ) 

No. 311. 
TO MR. SAMUEL CLARKE, JUN. DUMFRIES. 

Stmday Morning. 

Dear Sir, 

1 WAS, I know, drunk last night, but 
I am sober this morning. From the expressions 
Captain made use of to me, had I had no- 
body's welfare to care for but my own, we should 
certainly have come, according to the manners of 
the world, to the necessity of murdering one ano- 
ther about the business. The words were such as, 
generally, I believe, end in a brace of pistols ; but 
I am still pleased to think that I did not ruin the 
peace and welfare of a wife and a family of chil- 
dren in a drunken squabble. Farther you know 
that the report of certain political opinions being 
mine, has already once before brought me to the 
brink of destruction. I dread lest last night's 
business may be misrepresented in the same way. 
•—You, I beg, will take care to prevent it. I 
tax your wish for Mr. Burns's welfare with the 
task of waiting, as soon as possible, on every gen- 
tleman who was present, and state this to him, 
and, as you please, shew him this letter. What, 
after all, was the obnoxious toast? 'May our 
success in the present war be equal to the justice 
of our cause !' — A toast that the most outrageous 
frenzy of loyalty cannot object to. I request and 
beg that this morning you will wait on the parties 
present at the foolish dispute. I shall only add. 



( 523 ) 

that I am truly sorry that a man \vho stood so 

high in my estimation as Mr. , should use me 

in the manner in which I conceive he has done.* 



No. 312. 
TO MR. ALEXANDER FINDLATER. 

SUPERVISOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES. 
Sir, 

Inclosed are the two schemes. I 
would not have troubled you with the collector's 
one, but for suspicion lest it be not right. Mr. 
Erskine promised me to make it right, if you will 
have the goodness to shew him how. As I have 
no copy of the scheme for myself, and the alter- 

* The following foolish verses were sent as an attack on 
Bums and his friends, for their political opinions. They were 
written by some member of a club, styling themselves the 
Loyal Natives of Dumfries. Being handed over the table to 
Burns at a convivial meeting, he instantly indorsed the sub- 
joined reply. 

The Loyal Natives' Verses. 

Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song. 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every throng. 
With, Craken the attorney, and Mundell the quack. 
Send V^illie the monger to hell with a smack. 

Burns — extempore. 

Ye true ' Loyal Natives,' attend to my song. 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 

From envy and hatred your corps is exempt : 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt? 



( 524 ) 

ations being very considerable from what it was 
formerly, I hope that I shall have access to this 
scheme I send you, when I come to face up my 
new books. So ?nuch for schemes. — And that no 
scheme to betray a friend, or mislead a stuan- 
ger; to seduce a young girl, or rob a hen- 
roost : to subvert liberty, or bribe an excise- 
man ; to disturb the general assembly, or 
annoy a gossipping; to overthrow the credit of 
ORTHODOXY, Or the authority of old songs ; to 
oppose yoii?^ wishes, or frustrate iny hopes — may 
PROSPER — is the sincere wish and prayer of 

ROBERT BURNS. 



. No. 313. 

TO THE EDITORS OF THE MORNING 
CHRONICLE. 



Gentlemen, 



Dumfries. 



JL OU will see by your subscribers' list, 
that I have now been about nine months one of 
that number. 

I am sorry to inform you, that in that time, 
seven or eight of your papers either have never 
been sent me, or else have never reached me. To 
be deprived of any one number of the first news- 
paper in Great Britain for information, ability and 
independence, is what I can ill brook and bear ; 
but to be deprived of that most admirable oration 
of the marquis of Lansdowne, when he made tlig 



( 525 ) 

great, though ineffectual attempt, (in the language 
of the poet, I fear too true,) * to save a sinking 
STATE,' — this was a loss which I neither can, nor 
will forgive you. — That paper, Gentlemen, never 
reached me, but I demand it of you. I am a 
BRITON ; and must be interested in the cause of 
LIBERTY : — I am a man ; and the rights of hu- 
man NATURE cannot be indifferent to me. How- 
ever, do not let me mislead you : I am not a man 
in that situation of life, which, as your subscriber, 
can be of any consequence to you, in the eyes of 
those to whom situation of life alone is the 
criteiion of man. — I am but a plain tradesman, 
in this distant, obscure country town : but that 
humble domicile in which I shelter my wife and 
children, is the castellum of a briton; and 
that scanty hard-earned income which supports 
them, is as truly my property, as the most mag- 
nificent fortune, of the most puissant member 
of your house of nobles. 

These, Gentlemen, are my sentiments ; and to 
them I subscribe my name : and were I a man of 
ability and consequence enough to address th^ 
PUBLIC, with that name should they appear. 

I am, &c. 



No. 314. 
TO COL. W. DUNBAR. 

X AM not gone to Elysium, most noble 
Colonel, but am still here in this sublunary world, 



( 5^6 ) 

serving my God by propagating his image, and 
honouring my king by begetting him loyal sub- 
jects. Many happy returns of the season await 
my friend ! May the thorns of care never beset 
his path ! May peace be an inmate of his bosoni, 
and rapture a frequent visitor of his soul ! May 
the blood-hounds of misfortune never trace his 
steps, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm his 
dwelling ! May enjoyment tell thy hours, and 
pleasure number thy days, thou friend of the 
bard ! Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and cursed 
be he that curseth thee ! 



No. 315. 
TO MR. HERON, OF HERON. 

1794, or 1795. 

Sir, 

i INCLOSE you some copies of a couple 
of political ballads ; one of which, I believe, you 
have never seen. Would to heaven I could make 
you master of as many votes in the Stewartry. 
But— 

' Who does the utmost that he can. 
Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more.' 

In order to bring my humble efforts to bear 
with more effect on the foe, I have privately 
printed a good many copies of both ballads, and 
have sent them among friends, all about the 
country. 



( 527 ) 

To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation 
of character, the utter dereliction of all principle, 
in a profligate junto, which has not only outraged 
virtue, but violated common decency; which, 
spurning even hypocrisy as paltry iniquity below 
their daring;— to unmask their flagitiousness to 
the broadest day — to deliver such over to their 
merited fate, is surely not merely innocent, but 
laudable ; is not only propriety, but virtue. — You 
have already, as your auxiliary, the sober detes- 
tation of mankind on the heads of your opponents ; 
and I swear by the lyre of Thalia to muster on 
your side all the votaries of honest laughter, and 
fair, candid ridicule ! 

I am extremely obliged to you for your kind 
mention of my interests in a letter which Mr. 
Syme shewed me. At present, my situation in 
life must be in a great measure stationary, at least 
for two or three years. The statement is this — I 
am on the supervisors' list, and as we come on 
there by precedency, in two or three years I shall 
be at the head of that list, and be appointed, of 
course. Then, a friend might be of service to 
me in getting me into a place of the kingdom 
which I would like. A supervisor's income varies 
from about a hundred and twenty, to two hun- 
dred a year; but the business is an incessant 
drudgery, and would be nearly a complete bar to 
every species of literary pursuit. The moment I 
am appointed supervisor, in the common routine, 
I may be nominated on the collector's list; and 
this is always a business purely of political patron- 
age. A collectorship varies much, from better 
than two hundred a year to near a thousand. 



( 528 ) 

They also come forward by precedency on the 
list ; and have, besides a handsome income, a life 
of complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, 
with a decent competence, is the summit of my 
wishes. It would be the prudish affectation of 
silly pride in me to say that I do not need, or 
would not be indebted to a political friend; at 
the same time, Sir, I by no means lay my affairs 
before you thus, to hook my dependent situation 
on your benevolence. If, in my progress of life, 
an opening should occur where the good offices of 
a gentleman of your public character and political 
consequence might bring me forward, I shall pe- 
tition your goodness with the same frankness as I 
now do myself the honour to subscribe myself, kc. 



No. 316. 

ADDRESS OF THE SCOTS DISTILLERS, 

TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT. 

Sir, 

TT HILE pursy burgesses crowd your 
gate, sweating under the weight of heavy ad- 
dresses, permit us, the quondam distillers in that 
part of Great Britain called Scotland, to approach 
you, not with venal approbation, but with frater- 
nal condolence; not as what you are just now, or 
for some time have been ; but as what, in all pro- 
bability, you will shortly be. — We shall have the 
merit of not deserting our friends in the day of 



( 529 ) 

their calamity, and you will have the satisfaction 
of perusing at least one honest address. You are 
well acquainted with the dissection of human na- 
ture; nor do you need the assistance of a fellow- 
creature's bosom to inform you, that man is always 
a selfish, often a perfidious being. — This assertion, 
however the hasty conclusions of superficial obser- 
vation may doubt of it, or the raw inexperience 
of youth may deny it, those who make the fatal 
experiment we have done, will feel. — You are a 
statesman, and consequently are not ignorant of 
the traffic of these corporation compliments. — The 
little great man who drives the borough to mar- 
ket, and the very great man who buys the 
borough in that market, they two do the whole 
business ; and you well know, they, likewise, 
have their price. With that sullen disdain which 
you can so well assume, rise, illustrious Sir, and 
spurn these liireling efforts of venal stupidity. 
At best they are the compliments of a man's 
friends on the morning of his execution : They 
take a decent farewell, resign you to your fate, 
and hurry away from your approaching hour. 

If fame say true, and omens be not very much 
mistaken, }'ou are about to make your exit from 
that world where the sun of gladness gilds the 
paths of prosperous men : permit us, great Sir, 
with the sympathy of fellow-feeling, to hail your 
passage to the realms of ruin. 

Whether the sentiment proceed from the sel- 
fishness or cowardice of mankind is immaterial; 
but to point out to a child of misfortune those 
who are still more unhappy, is to give him some 
degree of positive enjoyment. In this light, Sir, 
23 i Y 



( 530 ) 

our downfall may be again useful to you : — 
Though not exactly in the same way, it is not 
perhaps the first time it has gratified your feelings. 
It is true, the triumph of your evil star is ex- 
ceedingly despiteful. — At an age when others are 
the votaries of pleasure, or underlings in business, 
you had attained the highest wish of a British 
statesman; and, with the ordinary date of human 
life, what a prospect was before you ! Deeply 
rooted in Royal Favour, you overshadowed the 
land. The birds of passage, which follow minis- 
terial sunshine through every clime of political 
faith and manners, flocked to your branches ; and 
the beasts of the field, (the lordly possessors of 
hills and valleys) crowded under your shade. 
* But behold a watcher, a holy one came down 
from heaven, and cried aloud, and said thus: 
Hew down the tree, and cut off his branches ; 
shake off his leaves, and scatter his fruit ; let the 
beasts get away from under it, and the fowls from 
his branches !' A blow from an unthought-of 
quarter, one of those terrible accidents Vv^hich pe- 
culiarly mark the hand of Omnipotence, overset 
your career, and laid all your fancied honours in 
the dust. But turn your eyes. Sir, to the tragic 
scenes of our fate. — An ancient nation that, for 
many ages, had gallantly maintained the unequal 
struggle for independence with her much more 
powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a union 
Avhich should ever after make them one people. 
In consideration of certain circumstances, it w^as 
covenanted that the former should enjoy a stipu- 
lated alleviation in her share of the public burdens, 
particularly in that branch of the revenue called 



( 531 ) 

the excise. This just privilege has of late given 
great umbrage to some interested, powerful in- 
dividuals, of the more potent part of the empire, 
and they have spared no wicked pains, under in- 
sidious pretexts, to subvert what they dared not 
openly to attack, from the dread which they yet 
entertained of the spirit of their ancient enemies. 

In this conspiracy we fell; nor did we alone 
suffer, our country was deeply wounded. A 
number of (we will say) respectable individuals, 
largely engaged in trade, where we were not only 
useful, but absolutely necessary to our country, 
in her dearest interests; we, with all that was 
near and dear to us, were sacrificed without re- 
morse, to the infernal deity of political expediency ! 
We fell to gratify the wishes of dark envy, and 
the views of unprincipled ambition ! Your foes. 
Sir, w^ere avowed ; were too brave to take an un- 
generous advantage : you fell in the face of day. — 
On the contrary, our enemies, to complete our 
overthrow, contrived to make their guilt appear 
the villainy of a nation. — Your downfal only drags 
with you your private friends and partisans: In 
our misery are more or less involved the most nu- 
merous, and most valuable part of the community 
— all those who immediately depend on the culti- 
vation of the soil, from the landlord of a province, 
down to his lowest hind. 

Allow us, Sir, yet farther, just to hint at an- 
other rich vein of comfort in the dreary regions of 
adversity ; — the gratulations of an approving con- 
science. In a certain great assembly, of which 
you are a distinguished member, panegyrics on 
your private virtues have so often wounded your 



( 532 ) 

delicacy, that we shall not distress you with any 
thing on the subject. There is, however, one 
part of your public conduct which our feelings 
will not permit us to pass in silence; our grati- 
tude must trespass on your modesty ; we mean, 
worthy Sir, your whole behaviour to the Scots 
distillers. — In evil hours, when obtrusive recol- 
lection presses bitterly on the sense, let that. Sir, 
come like a healing angel, and speak the peace to 
your soul which the world can neither give nor 
take away. 

We have the honour to be, Sir, 
Your sympathizing fellow sufferers, 
And grateful humble Servants, 
John Barleycorn — Prseses. 



No. 317. 

TO THE HON. THE PROVOST, BAILIES, AND 
TOWN COUNCIL, OF DUMFRIES. 

Gentlemen, 

JL HE literar}^ taste and liberal spirit of 
your good town has so ably filled the various de- 
partments of your schools, as to make it a very 
great object for a parent to have his children edu- 
cated in them. Still, to me, a stranger, with my 
large family, and very stinted income, to give my 
young ones that education I wish, at the high- 
school-fees which a stranger pays, will bear hard 
upon me. 



( 533 ) 

Some years ago your good town did me the 
honour of making me an honorary burgess. — Will 
you allow me to request that this mark of dis- 
tinction may extend so far, as to put me on the 
footing of a real freeman of the town, in the 
schools ? 

«• « -Sif ^ * * 

If you are so very kind as to grant my request,* 
it will certainly be a constant incentive to me to 
strain every nerve where I can officially serve 
you ; and will if possible, increase that grateful 
respect with which 1 have the honour to be. 
Gentlemen, 

Your devoted humble Servant. 



No. 318. 
TO MR. JAMES JOHNSON EDINBURGH. 

Dumfries, July Uh, 1796. 

JHLOW are you, my dear friend, and how 
comes on your fifth volume? You may probably 
think that for some time past I have neglected 
you and your work; but, alas! the hand of pain, 
and sorrow, and care, has these many months lain 
heavy on me! Personal and domestic affliction 
have almost entirely banished that alacrity and life 
with which I used to woo the rural muse of Scotia. 

* * TV^ TJf * * 

* This request was immediately complied with. 



( 554 ) 

You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and 
have a good I'ight to live in this w^orld — because 
you deserve it. Many a merry meeting this pub- 
lication has given us, and possibly it may give us 
more, though, alas! I fear it. This protracting, 
slow, consuming illness ^vhich hangs over me, 
will, I doubt much, my ever dear friend, arrest 
my sun before he has well reached his middle 
career, and will turn over the poet to far other 
and more important concerns than studying the 
brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of sentiment ! 
However, hope is the cordial of the human heart, 
and I endeavour to cherish it as well as 1 can. 

Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. — 
Your work is a great one ; and now that it is near 
finished, I see, if we were to begin again, two or 
three things that might be mended ; yet I will 
venture to prophecy, that to future ages your 
publication will be the text book and standard of 
Scottish song and music. 

I am ashamed to ask another favour of you be- 
cause you have been so very good already; but 
my wife has a very particular friend of hers, a 
young lady who sings well, to whom she wishes 
to present the Scots Musical Museum. If you 
have a spare copy, will you be so obliging as to 
send it by the very first Fly, as I am anxious to 
have it soon. Yours ever, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



J- HE following letters, with the exception of one only, were 
written by Robert Burns before his marriage. They are print- 
ed verbatim from the originals, and where any of them are torn, 
which unfortunately is the case witli two or three, the deficien- 
cies are marked by asterisks. 

The lady to whom they are addressed seems to have encour- 
aged a friendly correspondence with the poet, whose fascinating 
powers of mind must necessarily have produced, on her part, 
esteem and admiration. 

Yet, although he was forbidden to indulge in the more ten- 
der affections of the heart, it was natural to expect, from the 
strong sensibility and delicate feelings of the bard, tliat, in his 
correspondence with a young and amiable woman, love must 
be a principal theme. 

We are happy, that, from the condescension of the proprie- 
tor, we are enabled to favour the public with an additional 
portion of the writings of our favourite poet : nor is this con- 
descension the effect of vanity, as from the letters themselves 
this lady can never be discovered ; although, like Swift's Va- 
nessa, she is, under a fictious n^uiie, ushered into immortality, 
by an author equally celebrated. 

As these letters, on perusal, will be found to possess every 
mark of the strong and vigorous mind of Burns, they will, in 
no degree, diminish that celebrity he has so justly merited by 
his epistolary compositions. To remove the doubts of any per- 
son who might suspect that they were not the genuine produc- 
tions of the bard to whom they are ascribed, the originals were 
permitted to remain with the publisher for one month after 
their first publication. Their authenticity, however, is now so 
well established, that no further reference to the originals i.-= 
necessary. 

3 Z 



LETTEES TO CLAEINDA, 



No. 1. 

J. CAN say, with truth, Madam, that I 
never met with a person in my hfe whom 1 more 
anxiously wished to meet again than yourself. 
To-night I was to have had that very great plea- 
sure, I was intoxicated with the idea, but an un- 
lucky fall from a coach has so bruised one of my 
knees, that I can't stir my leg ; so if I don't see 
you again, I shall not rest in my grave for cha- 
grin. I was vexed to the soul I had not seen you 
sooner ; I am determined to cultivate your friend- 
ship with the enthusiasm of religion ; but thus 
has fortune ever served me. I cannot bear the 
idea of leaving Edinburgh without seeing you. 
I know not how to account for it — 1 am strangely 
taken with some people ; nor am I often mistaken. 
You are a stranger to me ; but I am an odd being : 
some yet unnamed feelings, things not principles, 
but better than whims, carry me farther than 
boasted reason ever did a philosopher. 

Farewell ! every happiness be yours f 

Saturday Evening, * * * 



( 537 ) 



No. 2. 

Madam, 

X HAD set no small store by my tea- 
drinking to-night, and have not often been so 
disappointed. Saturday evening I shall embrace 
the opportunity with the greatest pleasure. I 
leave this town this day se'nnight, and, probably, 
for a couple of twelvemonths; but must ever re- 
gret that I so lately got an acquaintance I shall 
ever highly esteem, and in whose welfare I shall 
ever be warmly interested. 

Our worthy common friend, in her usual plea- 
sant way, rallied me a good deal on my new ac- 
quaintance, and in the humour of her ideas I 
wrote some lines, v/hich I inclose you, as I think 
they have a good deal of poetic merit ; and Miss 

tells me, you are not only a critic, but a 

poetess. Fiction, you know, is the native region 
of poetry ; and 1 hope you will pardon my vanity 
in sending you the bagatelle as a tolerable off- 
hand jeu-d/esprit. I have several poetic trifles 

which I shall gladly leave with Miss , or 

you, if they were worth house room ; as there are 
scarcely two people on earth by whom it would 
mortifv me more to be foro-otten, though at the 
distance of ninescore miles. 

I am. Madam, 
With the highest respect. 

Your very humble Servant. 

Thursday Evening. * * * 



( 538 ) 



No. 3. 



M. BEG your pardon, my dear * Clarinda/ 
for the fragment scrawl I sent you yesterday. I 
really do not know what I wrote. A gentleman, 
for whose character, abilities, and critical know- 
ledge, I hav^e the highest veneration, called in 
just as I had begun the second sentence, and I 
w^ould not make the porter wait. I read to my 
much-respected friend several of my own baga- 
telles, and, among others, your lines, which I 
had copied out. He began some criticisms on 
them as on the other pieces, when I informed him 
they were the work of a young lady in this town ; 
which, I assure you, made him stare. JMy learn- 
ed friend seriously protested, that he did not be- 
lieve any young woman in Edinburgh was capable 
of such lines ; and if you know any thing of pro- 
fessor Gregory, you will neither doubt of his 
abilities nor his sincerity. I do love you, if pos- 
sible, still better for having so fine a taste and 
turn for poes3^ I have again gone wrong in my 
usual unguarded way, but you may erase the 
w^ord, and put esteem, respect, or any other tame 
Dutch expression you please in its place. I be- 
lieve there is no holding converse, or carrying on 
correspondence, with an amiable woman, much 
less a gloiiously amiable, fine woman, without 
some mixture of that delicious passion, whose 
most devoted slave I have more than once had 
the honour of being: but why be hurt or offend- 
ed on that account? Can no honest man have a 



( 539 ) 

prepossession for a fine woman, but he must run 
his head against an intrigue ? Take a Httle of the 
tender witchcraft of love, and add it to the gene- 
rous, the honourable sentiments of manly friend- 
ship ; and 1 know but one more delightful morsel, 
which few, few in any rank, ever taste. Such a 
composition is like adding cream to strawberries ; 
it not only gives the fruit a more elegant richness, 
but has a peculiar deliciousness of its own. 

I inclose you a few lines I composed on a late 
melancholy occasion. I will not give above five 
or six copies of it at all, and I would be hurt if 
any friend should give any copies without my 
consent. 

You cannot imagine, Clarinda, (I like the idea 
of Arcadian names in a commerce of this kind) 
how much store I have set by the hopes of your 
future friendship. I do not know if you have a 
just idea of my character, but I wish you to see 
me as 1 am, I am, as most people of my trade 
are, a strange will o' ii:isp being ; the victim, too 
frequently, of much imprudence and many follies. 
My great constituent elements are pride and pas- 
sion : the first I have endeavoured to humanize 
into integrity and honour; the last makes me a 
devotee to the warmest degree of enthusiasm, in 
love, religion, or friendship ; either of them, or 
all together, as I happen to be inspired. 'Tis 
true, I never saw you but once; but how much 
acquaintance did I form with you in that once ! 
Do not think I flatter you, or have a design upon 
you, Clarinda; I have too much pride for the one, 
and too little cold contrivance for the other ; but 
of all God's creatures I ever could approach in the 



( 540 ) 

beaten way of acquaintance, you struck me with 
the deepest, the strongest, the most permanent 
impression. I say the most permanent, because 
I know myself well, and how far I can promise 
either on my prepossessions or powers. Why are 
you unhappy? And why are so many of our fel- 
low-creatures, unworthy to belong to the same 
species with you, blest with all they can wish? 
You have a hand all benevolent to give; why 
were you denied the pleasure ? You have a heart 
formed, gloriously formed, for all the most re- 
fined luxuries of love; why was that heart ever 
wrung? O Clarinda ! shall we not meet in a state, 
some yet unknown state of being, where the lavish 
hand of plenty shall minister to the highest wish 
of benevolence ; and where the chill north wind 
of prudence shall never blow over the flowery 
fields of enjoyment? If we do not, man was made 
in vain ! I deserved most of the unhappy hours 
that have lingered over my head ; they were the 
wages of my labour; but what unprovoked demon, 
malignant as hell, stole upon the confidence of 
un mistrusting busy fate, and dashed your cup of 
life with undeserved sorrow ? 

Let me know how long your stay will be out 
of town : I shall count the hours till you inform 
me of your return. Cursed etiquette forbids your 
seeing me just now ; and so soon as I can walk, I 
must bid Edinburgh adieu. Lord, why was I 
born to see misery, which I cannot relieve; and 
to meet with friends, whom I can't enjoy ? I look 
back with the pang of unavailing avarice on my 
loss in not knowing you sooner: all last winter, 
these three months past, what luxury of inter- 



( 541 ) 

course have I not lost! Perhaps, though, 'twas 
better for my peace. You see I am either above, 
or incapable of dissimulation. I believe it is want 
of that particular genius. I despise design, be- 
cause I want either coolness or wisdom to be 
capable of it. I am interrupted. 

Adieu ! My dear Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 

Friday Evening. 



No. 4. 



Mo?iday Evening, 11 o'clock. 



Wi 



HY have I not heard from you, Cla- 
rinda? To-day I well expected it; and before 
supper, when a letter to me was announced, my 
heart danced with rapture: but behold, 'twas 
some fool, who had taken it into his head to turn 
poet, and made me an offering of the first fruits 
of his nonsense. ' It is not poetry, but prose run 
mad.' Did I ever repeat to you an epigram I 
made on a Mr. Elphinstone, who has given a 
translation of Martial, a famous Latin poet ? The 
poetry of Elphinstone can only equal his prose 
notes. I was sitting in a merchant's shop of my 
acquaintance, waiting somebody : he put Elphin- 
stone into my hand, and asked my opinion of it ; 
1 begged leave to write it in a blank leaf, which 
I did, as you shall see on a new page. 



( 542 ) 

To Mr. Elphinstone, 

thou, whom poesy abhors I 
Whom prose has turned out of doors ! 
Heardst thou yon groan ? proceed no further ! 
Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther ! 

I am determined to see you, if at all possible, 
on Saturday evening. Next week, I must sing — 

* The night is my departing night, 

The morn 's the day I maun awa : 
There *s neither friend nor foe o' mine 

But wishes that I were awa ! 
What I hae done for lack o' wit, 

I never, never can reca' ; 

1 hope ye're a* my friends as yet, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' you a* !' 

If I could see you sooner, I would be so much 
the happier ; but I would not purchase the dear- 
est gratification on earth, if it must be at your 
expence in worldly censure; far less, inward 
peace ! 

I shall certainly be ashamed of thus scrawling 
whole sheets of incoherence. The only unity (a 
sad word with poets and critics !) in my ideas, is 
Clarinda. There my heart * reigns and revels.' 

' What art thou. Love ? whence are those charms. 

That thus thou bear'sf an universal rule ? 
For thee the soldier quits his arms. 

The king turns slave, the wise man fool. 
In vain we chase thee from the field. 

And with cool thoughts resist the yoke ; 
Next tide of blood, alas ! we yield ; 

And all those high resolves are broke !*^ 



( 54S ) 

I like to have quotations for every occasion. 
They give one's ideas so pat, and save one the 
trouble of finding expression adequate to one's 
feelings. 1 think it is one of the greatest plea- 
sures attending a poetic genius, that we can give 
our woes, cares, joys, loves, &c. an embodied 
form in verse, which, to me, is ever immediate 
ease. Goldsmith says finely of his muse — 

' Thou source of all my bliss and all ray woe ; 
Who found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.' 

My limb has been so well to-day, that I have 
gone up and down stairs often without my staff. 
To-morrow, I hope to walk once again on my 
own legs to dinner. It is only next street. Adieu ! 

Sylvander. 



No. 5. 

Sunday Night. 

X HE impertinence of fools has joined 
with a return of an old disposition, to make me 
good for nothing to-day. The paper has lain be- 
fore me all this evening, to write to my dear Cla- 
rinda, but 

* Fools rush'd on fools, as waves succeed to waves/ 

I cursed them in my soul : they sacrilegiously 
disturbed my meditations on her who holds my 
heart. What a creature is man ! A little alarm 
last night and to-day, that 1 am mortal, has made 
such a revolution on my spirits ! There is no 

4 A 



( 544 ) 

philosophy, no divinity, comes half so home to 
the mind. I have no idea of courage that braves 
heaven. 'Tis the wild ravings of an imaginary 
hero in bedlam. 

I can no more, Clarinda ; I can scarce hold up 
my head ; but I am happy you do not know it, 
you would be so uneasy. 

Sylvander. 

Monday Morning, 

I am, my lovely friend, much better this morn- 
ing, on the whole; but I have a horrid langour 
on my spirits. 

' Sick of the world, and all its joy. 

My soul in pining sadness mourns ; 
Dark scenes of woe my mind employ. 

The past and present in their turns.' 

Have you ever met with a saying of the great, 
and likewise good Mr. Locke, author of the fa- 
mous Essay on the Human Understanding ? He 
wrote a letter to a friend, directing it, * not to be 
delivered till after my decease:' it ended thus — 
* I know you loved me when living, and will pre- 
serve my memory, now I am dead. All the use 
to be made of it is, that this life affords no solid 
satisfaction, but in the consciousness of having 
done well, and the hopes of another life. Adieu ! 
I leave my best wishes with you. 

J. Locke.' 

Clarinda, may I reckon on your friendship for 
life? I think I may. Thou almighty preserver 
of men ! Thy friendship, which hitherto I have 



( 545 ) 

too much neglected, to secure it shall, all the fu- 
ture days and nights of my life, be my steady 
care ! The idea of my Clarinda follows — 

' Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, 
Where, mix'd with God's, her lov'd idea lies.' 

But I fear that inconstancy, the consequent 
imperfection of human weakness. Shall I meet 
with a ti-iendship that defies years of absence, and 
the chances and changes of fortune? Perhaps 
*such things are;' one honest man I have great 
hopes from that way : but who, except a romance 
writer, would think on a love that could promise 
for life, in spite of distance, absence, chance, and 
change ; and that too, with slender hopes of 
fruition ? For my own part, I can say to myself 
in both requisitions, ' Thou art the man !' I dare, 
in cool resolve I dare, declare myself that friend, 
and that lover. If womankind is capable of such 
things, Clarinda is. I trust that she is ; and feel 
I shall be miserable, if she is not. There is not 
one virtue which gives worth, or one sentiment 
which does honour to the sex, that she does not 
possess superior to any woman I ever saw: her 
exalted mind, aided a little perhaps by her situa- 
tion, is, I think, capable of that nobly-romantic 
love-enthusiasm. 

May I see you on Wednesday evening, my 
dear angel? The next Wednesday again will, I 
conjecture, be a hated day to us both. I tremble 
for censorious remark, for your sake ; but in extra- 
ordinary cases, may not usual and useful precau- 
tion be a little dispensed wath ? Three evenings, 
three swift-winged evenings, with pinions of 



( 546 ) 

down, are all the past; I dare not calculate the 

future. I shall call at Miss 's to-morrow 

evening : 'twill be a farewell call. 

I have wrote out my last sheet of paper, so I 
am reduced to my last half-sheet. What a 
strange, mysterious faculty, is that thing called 
imagination ! We have no ideas almost at all of 
another world; but I have often amused myself 
with visionary schemes of what happiness might 
be enjoyed by small alterations — alterations that 
we can fully enter to, in this present state of ex- 
istence. For instance, suppose you and I just as 
we are at present; the same reasoning powers, 
sentiments, and even desires ; the same fond cu- 
riosity for knowledge and remarking observation 
in our minds ; and imagine our bodies free from 
pain, and the necessary supplies for the wants of 
nature at all times, and easily within our reach : 
imagine farther, that we were set free from the 
laws of gravitation, which bind us to this globe, 
and could at pleasure fly, without inconvenience, 
through all the yet unconjectured bounds of crea- 
tion, what a life of bliss would w^e lead, in our 
mutual pursuit of virtue and knowledge, and our 
mutual enjoyment of friendship and love! 

I see you laughing at my fairy fancies, and 
calling me a voluptuous Mahometan ; but I anl 
certain 1 would be a happy creature, beyond any 
thing we call bliss here below ; nay, it would be 
a paradise congenial to you too. Don't you see 
us, hand in hand, or rather, my arm about your 
lovely waist, making our remarks on Sirius, the 
nearest of the fixed stars ; or surveying a comet, 
flaming innoxious by us, as we just now would 



( 547 ) 

mark the^ passing pomp of a travelling monarch ; 
or in a shady bower of Mercury or Venus, dedi- 
cating the hour to love, in mutual converse, re- 
lying honour, and revelling endearment, whilst 
the most exalted strains of poesy and harmony 
would be the ready, spontaneous language of our 
souls? Devotion is the favourite employment of 
your heart ; so it is of mine : what incentives then 
to, and powers for reverence, gratitude, faith and 
hope, in all the fervours of adoration and praise 
to that Being, whose unsearchable wisdom, power, 
and goodness, so pervaded, so inspired every sense 

and feeling ! By this time, I dare say, you 

will be blessing the neglect of the maid that leaves 
me destitute of paper ! 

Sylvander. 



No. 6. 

I CANNOT go out to-day, my dearest 
Clarinda, without sending you half a line, by way 
of a sin-offering ; but believe me, 'twas the sin of 
ignorance. Could you think that I intended to 
hurt you by any thing I said yesternight ? Nature 
has been too kind to you for your happiness, your 
delicacy, your sensibility. — O why should such 
glorious qualifications be the fruitful source of 
%voe ! You have * murdered sleep' to me last 
night. I went to bed, impressed with an idea 
that you were unhappy ; and every start I closed 
my eyes, but fancy painted you in such scenes of 



{ 548 ) 

romantic misery, that I would almost be per- 
suaded you were not well this morning. 

If I unweeting have offended. 



Impute it not/ 

' But while we live. 

But one short hour perhaps, between us two 
Let there be peace/ 

If Mary be not gone by this reaches you, give 
her my best compliments. She is a charming girl, 
and highly worthy of the noblest love. 

I send you a poem to read, till I call on you 
this night, Avhich will be about nine. I wish I 
could procure some potent spell, some fairy charm, 
that would protect fiom injury, or restore to rest, 
that bosom-chord, ' trembling alive all o'er,' on 
which hangs your peace of mind. I thought, 
vainly, I fear, thought that the devotion of love — 
love strong as even you can feel — love guarded, 
invulnerably guarded by all the purity of virtue, 
and all the pride of honour; I thought such a 
love might make you happy — will I be mistaken ? 
I can no more for hurry **«-«*** 

Tuesday Morning. 



No. 7. 
My ever dearest Clarinda, 

JL MAKE a numerous dinner party wait 
me while I read yours, and write this. Do not 
require that I should cease to love you, to adore 
you in my soul — 'tis to me impossible — your 



( 549 ) 

peace and happiness are to me dearer than my 
soul — name the terms on which you wish to see 
me, to correspond with me, and you have them 
— I must love, pine, mourn, and adore in secret 
— this you must not deny me — you will ever be 
to me — 

* Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart !' 

I have not patience to read the puritanic scrawl. 
— Vile sophistry ! — Ye heavens ! thou God of na- 
ture ! thou redeemer of mankind ! ye look down 
with approving eyes on a passion inspired by the 
purest flame, and guarded by truth, delicacy, and 
honour : but the half-inch soul of an unfeeling, 
cold-blooded, pitiful presbyterian bigot, cannot 
forgive any thing above his dungeon bosom and 
foggy head. 

Farewell ; I'll be with you to-morrow evening 
— and be at rest in your mind — I will be yours 
in the way you think most to your happiness ! I 

dare not proceed 1 love, and will love you, 

and will with joyous confidence approach the 
throne of the almighty judge of men, with your 
dear idea, and wdll despise the scum of sentiment, 
and the mist of sophistry. 

Sylvander. 



No. 8. 



JL OU are right, my dear Clarinda : a 
friendly correspondence goes for nothing, except 



( 550 ) 

one write their undisguised sentiments. Yours 
please me for their intrinsic merit, as well as be- 
cause they are yours, which, I assure you, is to 
me a high recommendation. Your religious sen^ 
timents, JNIadam, I revere. If you have, on some 
suspicious evidence, from some lying oracle, learnt 
that I despise or ridicule so sacredly important a 
matter, as real religion, you have, my Clarinda, 
much misconstrued your friend. — * I am not mad, 
most noble Festus !' Have you ever met a perfect 
character ? Do we not sometimes rather exchange 

o 

faults than get rid of them? , For instance, I am 
perhaps tired with, and shocked at a life too much 
the prey of giddy inconsistencies and thoughtless 
follies; by degrees I grow sober, prudent, and 
statedly pious — ^I say statedly, because the most 
unaffected devotion is not at all inconsistent with 
my first character — I join the v/orld in congratu- 
lating myself on the happy change. But let me 
pry more narrowly hi to this affair. Have I, at 
bottom, any thing of a secret pride in these en- 
dowments and emendations ? have I nothing of a 
presbyterian sourness, an hypocritical severity, 
when I survey my less regular neighbours ? in a 
word, have I missed all those nameless and num- 
berless modifications of indistinct selfishness, 
which are so near our own eyes, that we can 
scarce bring them within the sphere of our vision, 
and which the known spotless cambric of our 
character hides from the ordinary observer? 

My definition of worth is short; truth and hu- 
manity respecting our fellow-creatures ; reverence 
and humility in the presence of that Being, my 
Creator and Preserver, and who, I have every 



( 551 ) 

reason to believe, will one day be my Judge. 
The first part of my definition is the creature of 
unbiassed instinct ; the last is the child of after 
reflection. Where I found these two essentials, 
I would gently note, and slightly mention, any 
attendant flaws — flaws, the marks, the conse- 
quences of human nature. 

I can easily enter into the sublime pleasures 
that your strong imagination and keen sensibility 
must derive from religion, particularly if a little 
in the shade of misfortune ; but I own I cannot, 
without a marked grudge, see heaven totally en- 
gross so amiable, so charming a woman, as my 
friend Clarinda : and should be very well pleased 
at a ciixumstance that would put it in the power 
of somebody (happy somebody !) to divide her 
attention, with all the delicacy and tenderness of 
an earthly attachment. 

You will not easily persuade me that you have 
not a grammatical knowledge of the English lan- 
guage.— So far from being inaccurate, you are 
elegant beyond any woman of my acquaintance, 
except one, whom I wish you knew. 

Your last verses to me have so delighted me, 
that I have got an excellent old Scots air that 
suits the measure, and you shall see them in print 
in the * Scots Musical Museum,' a work publish- 
ing by a friend of mine in this town, I want 
four stanzas ; you gave me but three, and one of 
them alluded to an expression in my former let- 
ter ; so I have taken your two first verses, with a 
slight alteration in the second, and have added a 
third; but you must help me to a fourth. Here 
they are : the latter half of the first stanza would 
214 4 B 



( 552 ) 

have been worthy of Sappho; I am in raptures 
with it. 

Talk not of love^ it gives me pain. 

For love has been my foe : 
He bound me with an iron chain. 

And sunk me deep in woe. 

But friendship's pure and lasting joys 

My heart was fomi'd to prove : 
There, welcome, win and wear the prize. 

But never talk of love. 

Vour friendship much can make me blest, 
O, why that bliss destroy ! 
[only] 
Why urge the odious one request, 
[will] 
You know I must deny. 

The alteration in the second stanza is no im- 
provement, but there was a slight inaccuracy in 
your rhyme. The third I offer only to your 
choice, and have left two words for your deter- 
mination. The air is ' The banks of Spey,' and 
is most beautiful. 

To-morrow evening I intend taking a chair, 
and paying a visit at Park-place to a much valued 
old friend. If I could be sure of finding you at 
home, (and I will send one of the chairmen to 
call) I would spend from five to six o'clock with 
you, as I go past. I cannot do more at this time, 
as I have something on my hand that hurries me 
much. 1 propose giving you the first call, my old 

friend the second, and Miss , as I return 

home. Do not break any engagement for me, as 
I will spend another evening with you at any rate 
before I leave town. 



( 553 ) 

Do not tell me that you are pleased when your 
friends inform you of your faults. I am ignorant 
what they are ; but I am sure they must be such 
evanescent trifles, compared with your personal 
and mental accomplishments, that I would despise 
the ungenerous, narrow soul, who would notice 
any shadow of imperfections you may seem to 
have, any other way than in the most delicate, 
agreeable raillery. Coarse minds are not aware 
how much they injure the keenly feeling tie of 
bosom-friendship, when in their foolish officious- 
ness they mention what nobody cares for recol- 
lecting. People of nice sensibility, and generous 
minds, have a certain intrinsic dignity, that fires 
at being trifled with, or lowered, or even too 
neai'ly approached. 

You need make no apology for long letters : 1 
am even with you. Many happy new years to 
you, charming Clarinda! I can't dissemble, w^ere 
it to shun perdition. He who sees you as I have 
done, and does not love you, deserves to be 
damn'd for his stupidity ! He who loves you, 
and would injure you, deserves to be doubly 
damn'd for his villany ! Adieu ! 

Sylvander. 

P. S. What would you think of this for a 
fourth stanza? 

Your thought, if love must harbour there. 

Conceal it in that thought. 
Nor cause me from my bosom tear 

The very friend I sought. 



( 554> ) 



No. 9. 

I^OME days, some nights, nay, some 
hours, like the 'ten righteous persons in Sodom,' 
save the rest of the vapid, tiresome, miserable 
months and years of life. One of these hours, 
my dear Clarinda blest me with yesternight. 



One well spent hour. 



In such a tender circumstance for friends. 
Is better than an age of common time !' 

Thomson. 



My favourite feature in ]\Iil ton's Satan is his 
manly fortitude in supporting what cannot be re- 
medied — in short, the wild broken fragments of a 
noble, exalted mind in ruins. I meant no more 
by saying he was a favourite hero of mine. 

1 mentioned to you my letter to Dr. Moore, 
giving an account of my life : it is truth, every 
w^ord of it; and will give you the just idea of a 
man whom you have honoured with your friend- 
ship. I am afraid you will hardly be able to make 
sense of so torn a piece. — Your verses I shall 
muse on, deliciously, as I gaze on your image in 
my mind's eye, in my heart's core : they will be 
in time enough for a week to come. I am truly 
happy your head-ache is better. — O, how can pain 
or evil be so daringly, unfeelingly, cruelly savage, 
as to wound so noble a mind, so lovely a form ! 



( 555 } 

My little fellow is all my name-sake. — Write 
me soon. My every, strongest good wishes at- 
tend you, Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 

Saturday Noon. 

I know not what I have written — I am pester- 
ed with people around me. 



No. 10. 

Sunday Morning. 

JL HAVE just been before the throne of 
my God, Clarinda; according to my association 
of ideas, my sentiments of love and friendship, I 
next devote myself to you. Yesternight I was 
happy — happiness * that the world cannot give.' — 
I kindle at the recollection ; but it is a flame 
v^here innocence looks smiling on, and honour 
stands by, a sacred guard. — Your heart, your 
fondest wishes, your dearest thoughts, these are 
yours to bestow : your person is unapproachable, 
by the laws of your country ; and he loves not as 
I do, who would make you miserable. 

You are an angel, Clarinda ; you are surely no 
mortal that ' the earth owns.' — To kiss your hand, 
to live on your smile, is to me far more exquisite 
bliss, than the dearest favours that the fairest of 
the sex, yourself excepted, can bestow. 

Sunday Evening. 

You are the constant companion of my thoughts. 
How wretched is the condition of one who is 



( 556 ) 

haunted with conscious guilt, and trembling 
under the idea of dreaded vengeance ! and what a 
placid calm, what a charming secret enjoyment it 
gives, to bosom the kind feelings of friendship, 
and the fond throes of love ! Out upon the tem- 
pest of anger, the acrimonious gall of fretful im- 
patience, the sullen frost of lowering resentment, 
or the corroding poison of withered envy ! They 
eat up the immortal part of man ! If they spent 
their fury only on the unfortunate objects of them, 
it would be something in their favour; but these 
miserable passions, like traitor Iscariot, betray 
their lord and master. 

Thou almighty author of peace, and goodness, 
and love ! Do thou give me the social heart that 
kindly tastes of every man's cup ! It is a draught 
of joy — warm and open my heart to share it with 
cordial, unenvying rejoicing ! Is it the bitter po- 
tion of sorrow — melt my heart with sincerely 
sympathetic woe ! Above all, do thou give me 
the manly mind, that resolutely exemplifies, in 
life and manners, those sentiments which I would 
wish to be thought to possess ! The friend of my 
soul — there may I never deviate from the firmest 
fidelity, and most active kindness ! Clarinda, the 
dear object of my fondest love; there, may the 
most sacred, inviolate honour, the most faithful, 
kindling constancy, ever watch and animate my 
every thought and imagination ! 

Did you ever meet with the following lines 
spoken of religion, your darling topic. 

' 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright ; 
*Tis this that gilds the horror of our night ! 



{ 557 ) 

When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few. 

When friends are faithless, and when foes pursue ; 

'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart. 

Disarms affliction, or repels its dart : 

Within the breast bids purest rapture rise. 

Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.* 

I met with these verses very early in life, and 
was so delighted wnth them, that I have them by 
me, copied at school. 

Good night, and sound rest, my dearest Cla- 
rinda ! 

Sylvandek. 



No. 11. 

i AM delighted, charming Clarinda, with 
your honest enthusiasm for religion. Those of 
either sex, but particularly the female, who are 
lukewarm in that most important of all things, 
' O my soul, come not thou into their secrets !' — 
I feel myself deeply interested in your good opi- 
nion, and will lay before you the outlines of my 
belief He, who is our author and preserver, and 
will one day be our judge, must be (not for his 
sake in the way of duty, but from the naked im- 
pulse of our hearts) the object of our reverential 
awe and grateful adoration : He is almighty and 
all-bounteous, we are weak and dependent ; hence, 

prayer and every other sort of devotion. *He 

is not willing that any should perish, but that all 
should come to everlasting life;' consequently, it 
must be in every one's power to embrace his offer 



( 558 ) 

of * everlasting life;' otherwise he could not, in 
justice, condemn those who did not. A mind per- 
vaded, actuated, and governed by purity, truth, 
and charity, though it does not merit heaven, yet 
is an absolutely necessary pre-requisite, without 
which heaven can neither be obtained nor en- 
joyed ; and, by divine promise, such a mind shall 
never fail of attaining * everlasting life :' hence, 
the impure, the deceiving, and the uncharitable, 
extrude themselves from eternal bliss, by their 
unfitness for enjoying it. The Supreme Being 
has put the immediate administration of all this, 
for wise and good ends known to himself, into 
the hands of Jesus Christ, a great personage, whose 
relation to him we cannot comprehend, but whose 
relation to us is a guide and Saviour ; and who, 
except for our own obstinacy and misconduct, 
will bring us all, through various v^ays, and by 
various means, to bliss at last. 

These are my tenets, my lovely friend ; and 
which, I think, cannot be well disputed. My 
creed is pretty nearly expressed in the last clause 
of Jamie Dean's grace, an honest weaver in Ayr- 
shire; 'Lord, grant that we may lead a gude life ! 
for a gude life maks a gude end, at least it helps 
weel !' 

I am flattered by the entertainment you tell 
me you have found in my packet. You see me 
as I have been, you know me as I am, and may 
guess at w^hat I am likely to be. I too may say, 
' Talk not of love, &c.' for indeed he has 'plunged 
me deep in woe !' Not that I ever saw a woman 
who pleased unexceptionably, as my Clarinda 
elegantly says, 'In the companion, the friend, 



( 559 ) 

and ,the mistress.' One indeed I could except— 
One, before passion threw its mists over my dis- 
cernment I knew it, tfie first of women ! Her 
name is indelibly written in my heart's core — but 
I dare not look in on it — a degree of agony would 
be the consequence. Oh ! thou perfidious, cruel, 
mischief-making demon, who presidest o'er that 
frantic passion — thou mayest, thou dost poison 
my peace, but shalt not taint my honour — I 
would not for a single moment give an asylum to 
the most distant imagination, that would shadow 
the faintest outline of a selfish gratification, at the 
expence of her whose happiness is twisted with 

the threads of my existence. May she be 

happy as she deserves! And if my tenderest, 
faithful friendship can add to her bliss — I shall at 
least have one solid mine of enjoyment in my bo- 
som ! Don't guess at thes'e ravings ! 

I watched at our front window to-day, but was 
disappointed. It has been a day of disappoint- 
ments. I am just risen from a two hours' bout 
after supper, with silly or sordid souls, who could 
relish nothing in common with me — but the Port. 

«One.' 'Tis now * witching time of night;' 

and whatever is out of joint in the foregoing 
scrawl, impute it to enchantments and spells; for 
I can't look over it, but will seal it up directly, as 
I don't care for to-morrow's criticisms on it. 

You are by this time fast asleep, Clarinda; 
may good angels attend and guard you as con- 
stantly and faithfully as my good wishes do. 

* Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep. 
Shot forth peculiar graces.* 

4 C 



( 560 ) 

John Milton, I wish thy soul better rest than 
I expect on my pillow to-night ! O for a little of 
the cart-horse part of human nature ! Good night, 
my dearest Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 

Tuesday Night. 



No. 12. 

Thursday Morning, 
' Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain/ 

X HAVE been tasking my reason, Cia- 
rinda, why a woman, who, for native genius, 
poignant wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity 
of soul, and the sweetest female tenderness, is 
without a peer ; and whose personal charms have 
few, very, very few parallels, among her sex ; 
why, or how she should fall to the blessed lot of 
a poor hairum-scairum poet, whom Fortune had 
kept for her particular use, to wreak her temper 
on, whenever she was in ill-humour. One time 
I conjectured, that as Fortune is the most capri- 
cious jade ever known ; she may have taken, not 
a fit of remorse, but a paroxysm of whim, to raise 
the poor devil out of the mire, where he had so 
often and so conveniently served her as a step- 
ping-stone, and given him the most glorious boon 
she ever had in her gift, merely for the maggot's 
sake, to see how his fool head and his fool heart 
will beai it. At other times I was vain enough 



( 561 ) 

to think that Nature, who has a great deal to say 
with Fortune, had given the coquettish goddess 
some such hint as, * Here is a paragon of female 
excellence, whose equal, in all my former compo- 
sitions, I never was lucky enough to hit on, and 
despair of ever doing so again ; you have cast her 
rather in the shades of life ; there is a certain poet, 
of my making ; among your frolics, it would not 
be amiss to attach him to this master-piece of my 
hand, to give her that immortality among man- 
kind which no woman, of anv a^je, ever more de- 
served, and which few rhymsters of this age are 
better able to confer.' 

Evening, 9 o'clock. 

I am here, absolutely unfit to finish my letter, 
pretty hearty after a bowl, which has been con- 
stantly plied since dinner, till this moment. 1 
have been with ^Ir. Schetki, the musician, and 

he has set it* finely. 1 have no distinct ideas 

of any thing, but that I have drunk your health 
twice to-night, and that you are all my soul holds 
dear in this world. 

Sylvander. 



No. 13. 



X WAS on the way, 7)iy love, to meet 
you (I never do things by halves) when I got 
your card. M goes out of town to-morrow 

* ' Clarinda, mistress of my soul/ &c. — Sec PoemSj p. 458. 



( 562 ) 

morning, to see a brother of his who is newly 

arrived vrom . I am determined that he 

and I shall call on you together; so, look you, 
lest I should never see to-morrow, we will call on 

you to-night; and you may put off tea 

till about seven ; at which time, in the Galloway 
phrase, 'an' the beast be to the fore, an' the 
branks bide hale,' expect the humblest of your 
humble servants, and his dearest friend. We 
propose staying only half an hour, * for ought we 
ken.' I could suffer the lash of misery eleven 
months in the year, were the twelfth to be com- 
posed of hours like yesternight. You are the 
soul of my enjoyment: all else is of the stuff of 
stocks and stones. 

Sylvandeu. 



No. 14 

X AM certain 1 saw you, Clarinda; but 
you don't look to the proper story for a poet's 
lodging — 

* Where speculation roosted near the sky.* 

1 could almost have thrown myself over, for 
very vexation. Why did'nt you look higher? 
It has spoilt my peace for this day. To be so 
near my charming Clarinda; to miss her look 
when it was searching for me, I am sure the soul 
is capable of diseasCj for mine has convulsed itself 
into an inflammatory fever 



( 563 ) 

You have converted me, Clarinda. (I shall 
love that name while I live; there is heaven'y 
music in it). Booth and Amelia I know w^ell. 
Your sentiments on that subject, as they are on 
every subject, are just and noble. * To be feel- 
ingly alive to kindness, and to unkindness,' is a 
charming female character. 

What I said in my last letter, the powers of 
fuddling sociality only know for me. By yours, 
I understand my good star has been partly in my 
horizon, when I. got wild in my reveries. Had 
that evil planet, which has almost all my life shed 
its baleful rays on my devoted head, been, as usual, 
in my zenith, I had certainly blabb'd sometliing 
that would have pointed out to you the dear ob- 
ject of my tenderest friendship, and, in spite of 
me, something more. Had that fatal information 
escaped me, and it was merely chance, or kind 
stars, that it did not, I had been undone ! You 
never would have w^-itten me, except perhaps 
once more ! O, I could curse circumstances, and 
the coai'se tie of human laws, which keeps fast 
what common sense would loose, and which bars 
that happiness itself cannot give — happiness which 
otherwise Love and Honour would warrant ! But 
hold, I shall make no more ' hair-breadth 'scapes.* 

My friendship, Clarinda, is a life-rent business. 
My likings are both strong and eternal. I told 
you I had but one male friend : I have but two 
female. I should have a third, but she is sur- 
rounded by the blandishments of flattery and 
courtship. *** I register in my heart's core — 

*****'^. Miss N can tell you how divine 

^he is. She is worthy of a place in the same bo- 



( 564, ) 

som with my Clarinda. That is the highest com- 
pliment I can pay her. 

Farewell, Clarinda! Remember 

Sylvander, 

Thursday Noon. 



No. 15. 

Tuesday Evening. 



T] 



HAT you have faults, my Clarinda, I 
never doubted ; but I knew not where they ex- 
isted, and Saturday night made me more in the 
dark than ever. O, Clarinda, why will you wound 
my soul by hinting, that last night must have 
lessened my opinion of you! True; I was 'be- 
hind the scenes with you;' but what did I see? 
A bosom glowing with honour and benevolence ; 
a mind ennobled by genius, informed and refined 
by education and reflection ; and exalted by na- 
tive religion, genuine aS in the climes of heaven ; 
a heart formed for all the glorious meltings of 
friendship, love, and pity. These I saw. — I saw 
the noblest immortal soul creation ever shewed me. 
I looked long, my dear Clarinda, for your let- 
ter; and am vexed that you are complaining. I 
have not caught you so far wrong as in your idea, 
that the commerce you have with one friend hurts 
you, if you cannot tell every tittle of it to another. 
Why have so injurious an opinion of a good God, 
Clarinda, as to think, that Friendship and Love, on 
the sacred, inviolate principles of Truth, Honour, 



( 565 ) 

and Religion, can be any thing else than an object 
of his divine approbation ? 

I have mentioned, in some of my former scrawls, 
Saturday evening next. Do allow me to wait on 
you that evening. Oh, my angel! how soon 
must we part ! and when can we meet again ! I 
look forward on the horrid interval with tearful 
eyes! What have I lost by not knowing you 
sooner. I fear, I fear my acquaintance with you 
is too short, to make that lastiiig impression on 
yoOr heart I could wish. 

Sylvander. 



No. 16. 

Saturday Morning. 

jL our thoughts on religion, Clarinda, 
shall be welcome. You may perhaps distrust me 
when I say 'tis also my favourite topic ; but mine 
is the religion of the bosom. I hate the very idea 
of a controversial divinity ; as I firmly believe, 
that every honest, upright man, of whatever sect, 
will be accepted of the Deity. If your verses, as 
you seem to hint, contain censure, except you 
want an occasion to break with me, don't send 
them. I have a little infirmity in tny disposition, 
that where I fondly love or highly esteem, I can- 
not bear reproach. 

* Reverence thyself,' is a sacred maxim, and I 
wish to cherish it. I think I told you lord Bo- 
lingbroke's saying to Swift — * Adieu, dear Swift I 
with all thy faults I love thee entirely ; make an 



( 566 ) 

effort to love me with all mine/ A glorious sen- 
timent, and without which there can be no friend- 
ship! 1 do highly, very highly esteem you, 
indeed, Clarinda ; you merit it all ! Perhaps too, 
I scorn dissimulation ! I could fondly love you : 
judge then what a maddening sting your reproach 
woiad be. 'Oil have sins to heaven, but none 
to your — With what pleasure would I meet you 
to-day, but 1 cannot walk to meet the fly. I 
hope to be able to see you, on foot, about the 
middle of next week. 

I am interrupted — perhaps you are not sorry 
for it, you will tell me — but I won't anticipate 
blame. O Clarinda ! did you know how dear to 
.me is your look of kindness, your smile of appro- 
bation ! you would not, either in prose or verse, 
risk a censorious remark. 

' Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow. 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe !* 

Sylvander. 



No. 17. 

Saturday Morning. 

k HERE is no time, my Clarinda, when 
the conscious thrilling chords of Love and Friend- 
Ship give such delight, as in the pensive hours of 
what our favourite Thomson calls, 'Philosophic 
Melancholy.' The sportive insects, who bask in 
the sunshine of prosperity; or the worms that 
luxuriant crawl amid their ample wealth of earthy 



{ 567 ) 

they need no Clarinda; they would despise Syl- 
vander — if they durst. The family of Misfortune, 
a numerous group of brothers and sisters ! they 
need a resting place to their souls: unnoticed, 
often condemned by the world ; in some degree, 
perhaps, condemned by themselves, they feel the 
full enjoyu^ent of ardent love, delicate tender en- 
dearments, mutual esteem, and mutual reliance. 

In this light I have often admired religion. In 
proportion as we are wrung with grief, or dis- 
tracted with anxiety, the ideas of a compassionate 
Deity, an Almighty Protector, are doubly dear. 

* 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning light ; 
'Tis this that gilds the horrors of our night.' 

I have been this morning taking a peep through^ 
as Young finely says, * the dark postern of time 
long elaps'd ;' and, you will easily guess, 'twas a 
rueful prospect. AMiat a tissue of thoughtless- 
ness, weakness, and folly ! My life reminded me 
of a ruined temple ; what strength, what propor- 
tion in some parts ! what unsightly gaps, what 
prostrate ruins in others ! I kneeled down before 
the Father of mercies and said, ' Father, I have 
sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am 
no more worthy to be called thy son !' I rose, 
eased and strengthened. I despise the supersti- 
tion of a fanatic, but I love the religion of a man. 

* The future,' said I to myself, * is still before me :' 
there let me 

' On reason build resolve. 

That column of true majesty in man !' 

* I have difficulties many to encounter,' said I ; 

* but they are not absolutely insuperable : and 

4 D 



{ 568 ) 

where is firmness of mind shown but in exertion ? 
mere declamation is bombast rant.' — * Besides, 
wherever I am, or in whatever situation I may 
be— 

* 'Tis nought to me : 



Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the wild waste as in the city full ; 
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy !' 



Saturday Night — half after Ten. 

What luxury of bliss I was enjoying this time 
yesternight! My ever-dearest Clarinda, you have 
stolen away my soul : but you have refined, you 
have exalted it: you have given it a stronger 
sense of virtue, and a stronger relish for piety. — 
Clarinda, first of your sex, if ever I am the veriest 
wretch on earth to forget you ; if ever your lovely 
image is effaced from my soul, 

* May I be lost, no eye to weep my end ; 

And find no earth that's base enough to bury me !' 

What trifling silliness is the childish fondness 
of the every-day children of the world! 'tis the 
unmeaning toying of the younglings of the fields 
and forests : but where Sentiment and Fancy unite 
their sweets ; where Taste and Delicacy refine ; 
where Wit adds the flavour, and Good-sense gives 
strength and spirit to all, what a delicious draught 
is the hour of tender endearment ! — Beauty and 
Grace, in the arms of Truth and Honour, in all 
the luxury of mutual love ! 

Clarinda, have you ever seen the picture real- 
ized ? Not in all its very richest colouring. 



{ 569 ) 

Last night, Clarinda, but for one slight shade, 
was the glorious picture — 



Innocence 



Look'd gaily smiling on ; while rosy Pleasure 
Hid young Desire amid her flowery wreath. 
And pour'd her cup luxuriant ; mantling high, 
The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss ! 

Clarinda, when a poet and poetess of Nature's 
making, two of Nature's noblest productions! 
when they drink together of the same cup of 

Love and Bliss attempt not, ye coarser stuff 

of human nature, profanely to measure enjoy- 
ment ye never can know ! 

Good night, my dear Clarinda ! 

Sylvandee 



No. 18. 

i AM distressed for thee, my brother 
Jonathan !" I have suffered, Clarinda, from your 
letter. My soul w as in arms at the sad perusal : 
I dreaded that I had acted wrong. If I have rob- 
bed you of a friend, God forgive me ! But, Cla- 
rinda, be comforted : let us raise the tone of our 
feelings a little higher and bolder. A fellow-crea- 
ture who leaves us, who spurns us without just 
cause, though once our bosom friend — up with a 
little honest pride — let them go ! How shall I 
comfort you, w^ho am the cause of the injury ? 
Can I wish that I had never seen you ? that we 
had never met? No: I never will! But have I 



\ 570 ) 

thrown you friendless ? there is almost distraction 
in that thought. 

Father of mercies! against thee often have I 
sinned ; through thy grace I will endeavour to do 
so no more ! She who, Thou knowest, is dearer 
to me than myself, pour Thou the balm of peace 
into her past wounds, and hedge her about with 
Thy peculiar care, all her future days and nights ! 
Strengthen her tender noble mind, firmly to suf- 
fer, and magnanimously to bear ! Make me wor- 
thy of that friendship she honours me with. May 
my attachment to lier be pure as devotion, and 
lasting as immortal life ! O Almighty Goodness, 
hear me ! Be to her at all times, particularly in 
the hour of distress or trial, a Friend and Com- 
forter, a Guide and Guard. 

^How ai-e Thy servants blest, O Lord, 

How sure is their defence ! 
Eternal Wisdom is their guide. 

Their help. Omnipotence !' 

Forgive me, Clarinda, the injury I have done 
you ! To-night I shall be with you ; as indeed I 
shall be ill at ease till I see you. 

Sylvandek. 



No. 19. 

Two o'clock. 



I 



JUST now received your first letter of 
yesterday, by the careless negligence of the penny 
post. Clarinda, matters are grown very serious 



( 571 ) 

with us: then seriously hear me, and hear me 
heaven — I met you, my dear ***** by far the 
first of woman kind, at least to me : I esteemed, 
I loved you at first sight ; the longer 1 am ac- 
quainted with you, the more innate amiableness 
and worth I discover in you. — You have suffered 
a loss, I confess, for my sake : but if the firmest, 
steadiest, warmest friendship ; if every endeavour 
to be worthy of your friendship ; if a love, strong 
as the ties of nature, and holy as the duties of re- 
ligion — if all these can make any thing like a 
compensation for the evil I have occasioned you, 
if they be worth your acceptance, or can in the 

least add to your enjoyments -So help Sylvan- 

der, ye powers above, in this hour of need, as he 
freely gives these all to Clarinda ! 

I esteem you, I love you, as a friend ; I admire 
you, I love you, as a woman, beyond any one in 
all the circle of creation ; I know I shall continue 
to esteem you, to love you, to pray for you, nay, 
to pray for myself for your sake. 

Expect me at eight — And believe me to 

be ever, my dearest Madam, yours most entirely, 

Sylvander. 



No. 20. 



T^ HEN matters, my love, are desperate, 
we must put on a desperate face 



^ On reason build resolve. 

That column of true majesty in man.' 



( 572 ) 

Or, as the same author finely says, in another 
place : 

Let thy soul spring up. 



And lay strong hold for help on him that made thee.' 

I am yours, Clarinda, for life. Never be dis- 
couraged at all this. Look forward; in a few 
weeks I shall be somewhere or other out of the 
possibility of seeing you : till then, I shall write 
you often, but visit you seldom. Your fame, 
your welfare, your happiness, are dearer to me 
than any gratification whatever. Be comforted, 
my love ! the present moment is the worst ; the 
lenient hand of Time is daily and hourly either 
lightening the burden, or making us insensible to 
the weight. None of these friends, I mean Mr. 

and the other gentlemen, can hurt your 

worldly support: and for their friendship, in a 
little time you will learn to be easy, and, by and 
by, to be happy without it. A decent means of 
livelihood in the world, an approving God, a 
peaceful conscience, and one firm trusty friend — 
can any body, that has these, be said to be un- 
happy ? These are yours. 

To-morrow evening I shall be with you about 
eight ; probably for the last time, till I return to 

E . In the mean time, should any of these 

two unlucky friends question you respecting me, 
whether I am the Man ; I do not think they are 
entitled to any information. As to their jealousy 
and spying, I despise them. 

Adieu ! my dearest Madam \ 

Sylvander. 



( 573 ) 



No. 21. 



Glasgow, Monday Evening, 9 o'clock. 

J HE attraction of love, I find, is in an 
inverse proportion to the attraction of the New- 
tonian Philosophy : in the system of Sir Isaac, the 
nearer objects are to one another, the stronger is 
the attractive force; in my system, every mile- 
stone that marked my progress from Clarinda, 
awakened a keener pang of attachment to her. 
How do you feel, my love? is your heart ill at 
ease ? I fear it. — God forbid, that these persecutors 
should harass that peace which is more precious 
to me than my own. Be assured, I shall ever 
think of you, muse on you, and, in my moments 
of devotion, pray for you. The hour that you are 
not in all my thoughts — ' be that hour darkness ! 
let the shadows of death cover it I let it not be 
numbered in the hours of the day !' 



■* When I forget the darling theme. 



Be my tongue mute ! my fancy paint no more ! 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat !' 

I have just met with my old friend, the ship 
captain; guess my pleasure: to meet you could 
alone have given me more. My brother William, 
too, the young saddler, lias come to Glasgow to 
meet me; and here are we three spending the 
evening. 

I arrived here too late to write by post ; but I'll 
wrap half a dozen sheets of blank paper together, 
and send it by the Fly, under the name of a par- 



( 574 ) 

eel. You shall hear from me next post town. I 
would write you a long letter, but for the present 
drcumstance of my friend. 

Adieu, my Clarinda ! I am just going to pro- 
pose your health, by way of grace-drink. 

Sylvander. 



No. 22. 

Cumnock, 2c? March, 1788. 

X HOPE, and am certain, that my gene- 
rous Clarinda will not think my silence, for now 
a long week, has been in any degree owing to my 
forgetfulness. I have been tost about through 
the country ever since I wrote you ; and am here 
returning from Dumfries-shire, at an inn, the 
post-office of the place, with just so long time as 
my horse eats his corn, to write you. I have been 
hurried with business and dissipation almost equal 
to the insidious degree of the Persian monarch's 
mandate, when he forbade asking petition of God 
or man for forty days : had the venerable prophet 
been as throng as I, he had not broken the de- 
cree ; at least, not thrice a day. 

I am thinking my farming scheme will yet 
hold. A worthy intelligent farmer, my father's 
friend and my own, has been with me on the 
spot: he thinks the bargain practicable. I am 
myself, on a more serious review of the lands, 
much better pleased with them. I won't mention 

this in writing to any body but you and . 

Don't accuse me of being fickle : I have the two 



( 575 ) 

p^ns of life before me, and I wish to adopt the 
one most likely to procure me independence. I 
shall be in Edinburgh next week. I long to see 
you : your image is omnipresent to me : nay, I 
am convinced I would soon idolatrize it most 
seriously ; so much do absence and memory im- 
prove the medium through which one sees the 
much-loved object. To-night, at the sacred hour 
of eight, I expect to meet you — at the Throne of 
Grace. I hope, as I go home to-night, to find a 
letter from you at the post-office, in Mauchline. 
I have just once seen that dear hand since I left 
Edinburgh ; a letter indeed which much affected 
me. Tell me, first of womankind ! will my 
warmest attachment, my sincerest friendship, my 
correspondence, will they be any compensation 
for the sacrifices you make for my sake ? If they 
will, they are yours. If I settle on the farm I 
propose, I am just a day and a half's ride from 
Edinburgh. We w411 meet, don't you say, ' per- 
haps too often !' 

Farewell, my fair, my charming poetess ! May 
all good things ever attend you ! I am ever, 
My dearest Madam, Yours, 

Sylvander, 



No. 2S, 

Mosgiel, 7th. March, 1788. 

V-/LARINDA, I have been so stung 
with your reproach for unkindness, a sin so un- 
like me, a sin I detest more than a breach of the 
25 4 E 



( 576 ) 

whole Decalogue, fifth, sixth, seventh, and ninth 
articles excepted, that I believe 1 shall not rest in 
my grave about it, if I die before I see you. You 
have often allovv^ed me the head to judge, and the 
heart to feel, the influence of female excellence : 
was it not blasphemy then, against your own 
charms, and against my feelings, to suppose that 
a short fortnight could abate my passion ! You, 
my Love, may have your cares and anxieties to 
disturb you, but they are the usual recurrences of 
life; your future views are fixed, and your mind 
in a settled routine. Could not you, my ever 
dearest Madam, make a little allowance for a man, 
after long absence, paying a short visit to a coun- 
try full of friends, relations, and early intimates? 
Cannot you guess, my Clarinda, what thoughts, 
what cares, what anxious forebodings, hopes and 
fears, must crowd the breast of the man of keen 
sensibility, when no less is on the tapis than his 
aim, his employment, his very existence, through 
future life ? 

Now that, not my apology, but my defence is 
made, I feel my soul respire more easily. I know 
you will go along with me in my justification — 
would to heaven you could in my adoption too! 
I mean an adoption beneath the stars — an adop- 
tion where I might revel in the immediate beams 
of 

*■ She, the bright sun of all her sex." 

I would not have you, my dear Madam, so 

much hurt at Miss 's coldness. 'Tis placing 

yourself below her, an honour she by no means 
deserves. We ought, when we wish to be econo- 



( 577) 

mists in happiness; we ought, in the first plae^, 
to fix the standard of our own character; and 
when, on full examination, we know where we 
stand, and how much ground we occupy, let us 
contend for it as property; and those who seem 
to doubt, or deny us what is justly ours, let us 
either pity their prejudices, or despise their judg- 
ment. I know, my dear, you will say this is self- 
conceit ; but I call it self-knowledge : the one is 
the overweening opinion of a fool, who fancies 
himself to be, what he wishes himself to be 
thought: the other is the honest justice that a 
man of sense, who has thoroughly examined the 
subject, owes to himself Without this standard, 
this column in our own mind, we are perpetually 
at the mercy of the petulance, the mistakes, the 
prejudices, nay, the very weakness and wicked- 
ness of our fellow-creatures. 

I urge this, my dear, both to confirm myself in 
the doctrine, which, I assure you, I sometimes 
need; and because I know that this causes you 

often much disquiet. — To return to Miss : 

she is most certainly a most worthy soul, and 
equalled by very, very few, in goodness of heart. 
But, can she boast more goodness of heart than 
Clarinda? not even prejudice wall dare to say so; 
for penetration and discernment, Clarinda sees 

far beyond her : to wit, Miss dare make 

no pretence ; to Clarinda's wit, scarce any of her 
sex dare make pretence : personal charms, it would 
be ridiculous to run the parallel : and for conduct 

in life, Miss was never called out, either 

much to do, or to suffer ; Clarinda has been both ; 



( 578 ) 

and has performed her part, where Miss 

would have sunk at the bare idea. 

Away, then, with these disquietudes ! Let us 
pray with the honest weaver of Kilbarchan, — 

* Lord, send us a gude conceit o' oursel !' Or in 
the words of the auld sang : 

' Who does me disdain, I can scorn them again. 
And I'll never mind any such foes.' 

There is an error in the commerce of intimacy 

********* 

* * * * ^gy Qf exchange, have not an 
equivalent to give us; and what is still worse, 
have no idea of the value of our goods. Happy 
is our lot indeed, when we meet with an honest 
merchant, who is qualified to deal with us on our 
own terms ; but that is a rarity ; with almost 
every body we must pocket our pearls, less or 
more; and learn, in the old Scotch phrase — 'To 
gie sic like as we get.' For this reason one should 
try to erect a kind of bank or store-house in one's 
own mind ; or, as the Psalmist says, ' We should 
commune with our own hearts, and be still.' 
This is exactly * * * * * * 



No. 24. 

JL OWN myself guilty, Clarinda ; I should 
have written you last week : but when you recol- 
lect, my dearest Madam, that yours of this night's 



( 579 ) 

post is only the third I have got from you, and 
that this is the fifth or sixth I have sent to you, 
you will not reproach me with a good grace for 
unkindness. I have always some kind of idea, 
not to sit down to write a letter, except I have 
time and possession of my faculties so as to do 
some justice to my letter; which at present is 
rarely my situation. For instance, yesterday I 
dined at a friend's at some distance; the savage 
hospitality of this country, spent me the most 
part of the night over the nauseous potion in the 
bowl; this day sick — head-ache — low spirits — 
miserable — fasting, except for a draught of water 
or small beer: now eight o'clock at night — only 

able to crawl ten minutes' walk into M to 

wait the post, in the pleasurable hope of hearing 
from the mistress of my soul. 

But, truce with all this ! When I sit down to 
write to you, all is harmony and peace. A hun- 
dred times a day do I figure you, before your 
taper, your book or work laid aside, as I get 
within the room. How happy have I been ! and 
how little of that scantling portion of time, called 
the life of man, is sacred to happiness : 

I could moralize to-night, like a death's head. 

'O, what is life, that thoughtless wish of all ! 
A drop of honey in a draught of gall.' 

Nothing astonishes me more, when a little sick- 
ness clogs the wheels of life, than the thoughtless 
career we run, in the hour of health. 'Ivone 
saith, where is God, my Maker, that giveth songs 
in the night: who teacheth us more knowledge 



{ 580 ) 

than the beasts of the field, and more understand- 
ing than the fowls of the air.' 

Give me, my Maker, to remember thee ! Give 
me to act up to the dignity of my nature ! Give 
me to feel * another's woe;' and continue with me 
that dear-lov'd friend that feels with mine ! 

The dignified and dignifying consciousness of 
an honest man, and the well-grounded trust in 
approving heaven, are two most substantial **^" of 
happiness. 

Sylvander. 



No. 25. 

JlJeFORE you ask me why I have not 
written to you ; first let me be informed of you, 
how I shall write you ? ' In fi'iendship,' you say ; 
and I have many a time taken up my pen to try 
an epistle of * Friendship' to you ; but it will not 
do : 'tis like Jove grasping a pop-gun, after having 
wielded his thunder. When I take up the pen, 
Recollection ruins me. Ah! my ever dearest 
Clarinda! Clarinda! — What an host of Memory's 
tenderest offspring crowd on my fancy at that 
sound! But I must not indulge that subject: 
you have forbid it. 

I am extremely happy to learn, that your pre- 
cious health is re-established, and that you are 
once more fit to enjoy that satisfaction in ex- 
istence, which health alone can give us. My old 
friend has indeed been kind to you. Tell him, 



( 581 ) 

that I envy him the power of serving you. I had 
a letter from him a while ago, but it was so dry, 
so distant, so like a card to one of his clients, that 
I could scarce bear to read it, and have not yet 
answered it. He is a good, honest fellow; and 
can write a friendly letter, which would do equal 
honour to his head and his heart, as a whole sheaf 
of his letters I have by me will witness : and 
though Fame does not blow her trumpet at my 
approach now, as she did then, when he first 
honoured me with his friendship, yet I am as 
proud as ever ; and when I am laid in my grave, 
I wish to be stretched at my full length, that I 
may occupy every inch of ground which I have a 
right to. 

You would laugh, were you to see me where I 
am just now : — would to heaven you were here to 
laugh vv^ith me! though I am afraid that crying 
would be our first employment. Here am I set, 
a solitary hermit, in the solitary room of a solitary 
inn, with a solitary bottle of wane by me — as 
grave and as stupid as an owl — but, like that owl, 
still faithful to my old song ; in confirmation of 
which, my dear Mrs. Mack, here is your good 
health ! may the hand-wal'd benisons o' heaven 
bless your bonnie face ; and the wratch wha skel- 
lies at your weelfare, may the auld tinkler deil 
get him to clout his rotten heart ! Amen ! 

You must know, my dearest Madam, that 
these now many years, wherever I am, in what- 
ever company, when a married lady is called as a 
toast, I constantly give you ; but, as your name 
has never passed my lips, even to my most inti- 
mate friend, I give you by the name of Mrs. 



( 5S2 ) 

Mack. This is so well known among my ac- 
quaintances, that when my married lady is called 
for, the toast-master will say — 'O, we need not 
ask him who it is — here's Mrs. Mack !' I have 
also, among my convivial friends, set on foot a 
round of toasts, which I call a round of Arcadian 
Shepherdesses; that is, a round of favourite ladies, 
under female names celebrated in ancient song; 
and then, you are my Clarinda : so, my lovely 
Clarinda, I devote this glass of wine to a most 
ardent wish for your happiness ! 

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer. 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear : 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst — and can that worst despise. 
'Wrong'd, injur'd, shimn'd; unpitied, unredrest. 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest.' 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all ! 

I have been rhyming a little of late, but I do 

not know if they are worth postage. — Tell me 

********* 

^ y^ T^ ^ TJr '^ 

Sylvander* 



( 583 ) 



At what period of the Correspondence the following Poem was 
sent is uncertain. 

' I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn. 

By driving winds the crackling flames are borne !' 

Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night ; 

Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty eight. 

In vain the laws their feeble force oppose ; 

Chain'd at his feet they groan. Love's vanquish'd foes: 

In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye ; 

I dare not combat — but I turn and fly : 

Conscience in vain upbraids the unhallow'd fire ; 

Love grasps his scorpions — stifled they expire : 

Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne. 

Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone ; 

Each thought, intoxicated, homage yields, 

And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 

By all the conscious villain fears below ! 

By your dear self! the last, great oath I swear; 

Nor life, nor soul, were ever half so dear f 



4 F 



APPENDIX. 



The following Poems and Songs, which have been collected 
from various sources, will be found a valuable addition 
to the works of our celebrated Poet. 



MY LADY^S GOWN THERKS GAIRS UPOiN'T 



CHORUS. 



My lady's gown there's gairs upori't. 
And gowden Jlowers sae rare uporCt ; 
But Jenny'' sjimps and jirhinet. 
My lord thinks miickle mair upofrCt, 

ItIY lord a hunting he is gane. 
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane^ 
By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady's gown, ^c. 

My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude, 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, 6^c. 

Out o'er yon moor, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass. 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 

My lady''s gown, ^c. 



( 586 ) 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims, 
My lady's gown, Sfc, 

My lady's dink, my lady's drest. 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady'^s gown, S^c. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 

XvOBIN shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 
I gaed up the Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden. 
At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin. 

Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick 

And me the eller's dochter ? 
Robin shure, fyc, 

Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin shure, 4rc. 



( 587 ) 

TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

Tune— * Johnny M'Gill.' 

O WILL thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar, 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ; 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 

1 carena thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
I carena thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur, 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 



O GUDE ALE COMES. 

%J GUDE ale comes, and gude ale goes, 
Gude ale gars me sell my hose. 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
I had sax owsen in a pleugh, 
They drew a' weel enough ; 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane, 
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Gude ale bauds me bare and busy, 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O gude ale comes, and good ale goes, 
Gude ale gars me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 



( 588 ) 



O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauehline belles^ 

Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 
Such witching books, are baited hooks 

For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 

They make your youthful fancies reel. 
They heat your brains, and fire your veins. 

And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung ; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
The frank address, the soft caress. 

Are worse than poisoned darts of st^el. 
The frank address, and politesse. 

Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



COULD AUGHT OF SONG. 

VyOULD aught of song declare my pains^ 

Could artful numbers move thee. 
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains, 

O Mary, how I love thee. 
They who but feign a wounded heart. 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 
But what avails the pride of art, 

When wastes the soul with anguish. 



( 589 ) 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart-felt pang discover ; 
And in the keen, yet tender eye, 

O read th' imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd 

The voice of nature prizing. 



O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME 

CHORUS. 

O ay my wife she dang me, 
ArC aft my wife she hang'd me ; 
If ye gie a lornnan cC her will^ 
Gude faith shell soon (^ergang ye, 

fjN peace and rest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I marry'd ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarry'd. 
O ay my wife, ^c. 

Some sairie comfort still at last. 
When a' thir days are done, man, 

My pains o' hell on earth is past, 
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
O ay my wife, <^c. 



( 590 ) 

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 
BONNIE LASS. 

JUeRE'S to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gudenight and joy be wi' thee : 

I'll come nae mair to thy bower door. 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
But I can live without thee: 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 
How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt ay sae free informing me. 

Thou hast nae mind to marry, 
ril be as free informing thee, 

Nae time I hae to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means 

Frae wedlock to delay thee, 
Depending on some higher chance ; 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 

But that does never grieve me ; 
For I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I'll count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far off fowls hae feathers fair. 

And ay until ye try them; 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove as bad as I am 



( 591 ) 

But at twel at night, when the moon shines bright, 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that loves his mistress weel 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



EPISTLE TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE 
HIGHLAND SOCIETY, 

RESPECTING FIVE HUNDRED HIGHLANDERS AT- 
TEMPTING TO EMIGRATE TO AMERICA. 



To the Right Hon. the Earl of B * * * *, President of the 
Right Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, 
which met on the 2Sd of May last, at the Shakespeare, 
Covent-Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate 
the designs of five hundred Highlanders who, as the 

Society were informed by Mr. M' qfA****s, were 

so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful 
lords and masters, wliose property they are., by emigrating 
from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds 
of Canada, in search of that fantastic thiiig — liberty. 

AjONG life, ray Lord, an* iiealth be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highlan' boors ! 
Lord grant nae diiddie, desper_ate beggar, 
Wi' durk, claymore, or rusty trigger. 
May twin an Id Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as butchers like a knife ! 

Faith, you and A****s were right 
To keep the Highlan' hounds in sight! 
I doubt na ! they wad bid na better 
Than let them ance out owre the water; 

4 G 



{ 592 ) 

Then up amang the lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules an' laws they please. 
Some daring Hancocke, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highlan' bluid a-ranklin ; 
Some Washington again may head them, 
Or some Montgomery, fearless, lead them ; 
Till God knows what may be effected, 
■When by such heads an' hearts directed : 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire. 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 
To watch an' premier owre the pack vile ! 
An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance ? 
To cowe the rebel generation. 
An' save the honour o' the nation ! 

They, an' be d d \ what right hae they 

To meat, or sleep, or light o'day ? 

Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, 

But what your Lordships please to gie them ! 

But hear, my Lord ! G**** hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear ; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, an' bailies, 
I canna say but they do gailies ; 
They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
An' tirl the haliions to the birsies ; 
Yet, while they're only poin'd and herriet, 
They'll keep their stubborn Highlan' spirit: 
But smash them ! crash them a' to spails ! 
An' rot the dy vors i' the jails ! 
The young dogs, swinge them to the labour, 
Let wark an' hunger make them sober ! 



( 593 ) 

The hizzies, if their oughtlins faussont,- 
Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives, an' dirty brats 
Come thit^c^an at vour doors an' vetts, 
FlafFan wi' duds, and grey wi' beese, 
Frightan awa' your deucks and geese ; 
Get out a horse-whip, or a jowler, 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler,, 
And gar the tatter'd gipsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastards on their back ! 

Go on, my Lord ! I lang to meet you. 
An' in my house at hame to greet you ! 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my right hand assign'd your seat, 
'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, — 
Or, if ye on your station tarrow, 
Between Almagro an' Pizarro ; 
A seat, I'm sure you're weel deservin't ; 
An' till ye come — your humble servant, 

Beelzebub 

June 1, Anno Mundi 5790> 



ORIGINAL LETTER AND POEM. 

(No date, htit supposed November or December , 1787.^ 
Sir, 

X HE inclosed poem was written in con- 
5equence of your suggestion, last time I had the 
pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two 



( 594 ) 

of next morning's sleep, but did not please me ; 
so it lay by, an ill-digested effort, till the other 
day that I gave it a critic brush. These kind of 
subjects are much hackneyed; and, besides the 
wailings of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the 
great, are cursedly suspicious, and out of all cha- 
racter for sincerity. These ideas damped my 
Muse's fire ; however, I have done the best I could, 
and, at all events, it gives me an opportunity of 
declaring that I have the honour to be, Sir, your 
much obliged humble servant, 

Robert Burns 

Monday Morning. 
To Charles Hay, Esq. Advocate. 



ON THE DEA TH OF 

THE LATE LORD PRESIDENT. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks ; 
Down foam the rivulets, red with dashing rains ; 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains ; 
Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 
Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds and w^intry-swelling waves; 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, 
Sad to your sym.pathetic glooms I fly, 
Where, to the whistling blast, and waters' roar. 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss thy country ill could bear ! 
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 



( 595 ) 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
Her doubtful balance ey'd and svvay'd her rod ; 
She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
And sunk abandon'd to the wildest woe. 

Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den. 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men. 
See, from his cavern, grim Oppression rise, 
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly. 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 
Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes, 
Rousing elate in these degenerate times : 
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
As guileful Fraud points out the erring way ; 
While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong : 
Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale. 
And much-wrong'd Misery pours th' unpity'd wail! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains. 
Inspire and sooth my melancholy strains ! 
Ye tempests rage ! ye turbid torrents roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul : 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign ; 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure. 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



( 596 ) 

LETTER TO MR. M R. KILMARNOCK. 

Mosgiel, 1th March, 1788. 

Dear Sir, 

X HAVE partly changed my ideas, my 
dear friend, since I saw you. I took old Glen- 
conner with me to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was 
so pleased with it, that I have written an offer to 
Mr. Miller, which, if he accepts, I shall sit down 
a plain farmer, the happiest of lives when a man 
can live by it. In this case I shall not stay in 
Edinburgh above a week. I set out on Monday, 
and would have come by Kilmarnock, but there 
are several small sums owing me for my first 
edition, about Galston and Newmills ; and I shall 
set off so early as to dispatch my business, and 
reach Glasgow by night. When I return, I shall 
devote a forenoon or two to make some kind of 
acknowledgment for all the kindness I owe your 
friendship. Now that I hope to settle with some 
credit and comfort at home, there was not any 
friendship or friendly correspondence, that pro- 
mised me more pleasure than yours; I hope I 
will not be disappointed. I trust the spring will 
renew your shattered frame, and make your 
friends happy. You and I have often agreed that 
life is no great blessing on the whole. The close 
of life, indeed, to a reasoning eye, is, 

' Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun 
Was roird together, or had try'd his beams 
Athwart the gloom profound' 



( 597 ) 

But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie 
down in the grave, the whole man a piece of bro- 
ken machinery, to moulder with the clods of the 
valley, — be it so ; at least, there is an end of pain, 
care, woes, and wants ; if that part of us called 
Mind, does survive the apparent destruction of 
the man — away with old- wife prejudices and tales ! 
Every age and evi^y nation has had a different 
set of stories ; and as the many are always weak, 
of consequence they have often, perhaps always, 
been deceived : a man, conscious of having acted 
an honest part among his fellow creatures ; even 
granting that he may have been the sport, at 
times, of passions and instincts ; he goes to a great 
unknown Being, who could have no other end in 
giving him existence but to make him happy; 
who gave him those passions and instincts, and 
well knows their force. 

These, my worthy friend, are my ideas! and 
I know they are not far different from yours. It 
becomes a man of sense to think for himself; par- 
ticularly in a case where all men are equally in- 
terested, and where, indeed, all men are equally 
in the dark. 

Adieu, my dear Sir! God send us a cheerful 
meeting! 

ROBERT BURNS. 



ILLUSTRATIVE DESCRIPTION 



OF THE 



ENGRAVINGS. 



KIRK ALLOW AY 

Lies within a few yards of the road that leads from Ayr to 
Carrick. It is a place of great antiquity, but has been gra- 
dually decaying, since the union of the parish of Alloway to 
that of Ayr, a circumstance which took place above a cen- 
tury ago. The former parish is considered as one of the 
oldest in Scotland ; and, though the 'Consequence of its union 
with Ayr is the near dissolution of its venerable kirk, still 
the inhabitants retain some peculiar privileges, which abun- 
dantly testify its ancient importance. Burns has rendered 
the church famous by his tale of Tarn o' Shunter. It ap- 
pears to be, by the concurrent testimony of the country, a 
place notorious for the nocturnal revels of witches and fairies ; 
and the poet, favouring the conceit of his countrymen, has 
given, in the piece above mentioned, a description of one of 
their assemblies; and, after representing them in the height 
of their magical sport, under the presidency of ' Auld Nick,' 
he adds an inventory of attendant circumstances, that exhi- 
bits a mind fertile witli images of the most terrific nature. 

In the burial ground of Kirk Alloway is interred the re- 
mains of William Burness, the father of the poet, and a 
stone is seen in the left corner of the annexed view, on which 
is engraved this inscription to his memory : 



{ 599 ) 

THIS STONE WAS ERECTED TO THE 
MEMORY OF 

WILLIAM BURNESS, 

LATE FARMER IN LOCHLEE PARISH, OF TARBOLTON, 

Who died Feb. 3, 178^, aged 63 Years ; and zvas buried here. 

The wall of the church-yard being nearly destroyed, at 
the time of his residence in its vicinity, he joined two or 
three neighbours in an application to the town council of Avr, 
for permission to rebuild it, which was granted, and a sub- 
scription raised for the purpose; since that time, the in- 
closed ground was considered the burial place of the family, 
and Burns himself expressed an intention to rest his bones 
there, when they should be no longer serviceable to him, 
but his anticipation was not realized. 

The place appropriated for public worship in the church 
was small, scarcely accommodating three hundred persons ; 
some years ago the roof was standing, and a few seats, and 
the gallery or loft at the west end, were visible ; but nothing 
now remains except the walls. It is worthy of notice, that, 
notwithstanding the decay of the kirk, the bell retains its 
ancient situation, as may be seen in the print, with a rem- 
nant of the chain. An attempt to remove it was made by^ 
the magistrates a short tune since, but the zeal of the pea- 
santry interposed, and the design was abandoned. 



-O^- 



THE RIVER BOON, 

About two miles S. W. from the burgh of Ayr, divider 
Kyle from Carrick. For several miles from its mouth, its 
banks are beautifully diversified with plantations, well-culti- 
vated fields, and neat villas. Though not fed by so many 
tributary streamiS as the Ayr, it pours down a larger quantity 
of water. During the summer months its channel is always 
^26 4 H 



{ 600 ) 

full. The ruins of Greenan Castle, at a small distance from 
the mouth of the Doon, on a rock on Carrick shore, have a 
very striking and picturesque effect, 

— ^O^ — 

LINCLUDEN COLLEGE. 

The venerable remains of this college are situated about 
a mile and a half north-west from Dumfries, on the banks of 
the Clouden, a tributary stream to the river Nith. The 
structure, though low, and built with a dull red stone, pre- 
sents a most beautiful and highly-enriched specimen of the 
English, or pointed style of Gothic architecture ; the win- 
dows are ornamented with peculiar richness, and, in the. 
general decoration, no part, interior or exterior, has been 
forgotten. — On viewing this elegant pile, where the most 
exquisite workmanship is mouldering, obsolete, and almost 
in oblivion^ sensations of the strongest regret are excited. 
Part of the upper roof of its chancel is yet in existence, 
though the lower one is entirely demolished ; on the wall is 
a beautiful monument, to the memory of Margaret, daugh- 
ter of Robert the Third, king of Scotland, and wife to Ar- 
chibald, earl of Douglas, and duke of Terouan. The se- 
questered situation of this college, the romantic scenery in its 
immediate neighbourhood, the gentle murmuring of the 
Clouden, and the distant roaring of the ' swells and fa's' of 
the Nith, seem to have inspired the poet with the most sub- 
lime ideas. 

— ^o^-~ 
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDIE. 

In the immediate neighbourhood of the village of Aber- 
feldie, in Perthshire, is a deep wooded glen, following the 
'ourse of .1 inountaiu streamlet, which wantons in Nature's 



( GOl ) 

wildest forms, among chasms and excavated rocks. The 
beauty of the scenery is heightened by the rich and luxu- 
riant foliage of the lofty fir and spreading ash, intermixed 
with the taper hazel and the drooping birch ; which, moving 
with the gentle gales, breathe responsive murmurs to the 
sound of innumerable cascades, that rush headlong down, 
and are collected into two falls of considerable magnitude. 
The approach to the falls is through a mazy and intricate 
path, and cannot safely be attempted by strangers without 
a guide. The frequent windings of the way produce an 
ever-changing variety of grand and picturesque effect. In 
many parts the rocks elevate their stupendous bulk in gloomy 
majesty, emitting from their perforated sides numerous rills, 
that stray among the entangled roots of trees and shrubs^ 
till they join the rapid current, that winds its foaming course 
in the rude channel below. The dashing sound of the falls 
is heard at a distance through the wood, and the mind anti- 
cipates with awe the approaching scene. Those unaccus- 
tomed to Nature in her wildest dress, are, not without reason, 
surprised to find the poet Burns making choice of this place 
for amorous assignations. 

At the lower fall, a grand display of water meets the eye, 
and, looking downward, the rushing of the stream, nearly 
forty feet below, aided by the savage scenery around, and 
the united roarings of both the falls, creates a trepidation not 
easily subdued. The alarm, thus excited, is increased on 
the way to the upper fall : the ascent is, in many places, 
steep and slippery ; the din of waters becomes more power- 
ful, and anxiety is succeeded by consternation, when, on a 
sudden turn of the path, the cataract bursts at once upon 
the sight. The dreadful force of the waters is here seen, 
and the thundering noise occasioned by their fall precludes 
the interchange of speech. Bold, jutting rocks present 
themselves immediately in front, and are completely exca- 
vated into an immense cauldron below, where the waters 
fall, and rise again in continual mist to a considerable height. 
This interesting scene is adorned with noble trees, and others 
of smaller growth, that spread their brauches to the nutri- 



( 602 ) 

cious and incessant moisture; the ground likewise is em- 
bossed with flowers, which imbibe the falHng dew. But 
Nature spreads her sweets in vain, while amazement retains 
full possession of the faculties, and admiration is lost in won- 
der and astonishment, 

THE FALLS OF FYERS, 

NEAR LOCH NTiSS. 

The country in the vicinity of the river Fyers, before its 
discharge into Loch Ness, strikes the imagination of the 
beholder with the gloomy grandeur of the most retired soli- 
tude. The ascent to the falls is over rugged precipices, and 
which, but to gratify the curiosity df the traveller, would 
scarcely ever be passed. An elegant bridge has been built 
over the upper fall, at the cxpence of a Mr. Frazer : the 
execution of this fabric is highly creditable to the architect. 

In order to see these falls to advantage, the bridge must 
be crossed ; and descending a very steep precipice, the view- 
is obtained of the upper fall, which we have engraved : then 
following a broken foot-path, immediately beyond the bridge, 
the lower fall presents itself : 

* Prone down the rock, the whit'ning sliect descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear astonish'd rends.' 

The body of water which, after great rains, rushes down 
these falls, is immense : to form some idea of it, Johnson 
says, ' endeavour to conceive the effect of a iliousand streams, 
poured from the mountains into one channel, struggling for 
expansion in a narrower passage, exasperated by rocks rising 
in their way, and at last discharging all the violence of their 
waters by a sudden fall through the liorrid chasm."* 

Loch Ness, into which the river runs, is about twenty- 
four miles long, and from one to two miles broad ; it fills a 
large hollow between two ridges of high rocks, beings-sup- 
plied partly by the torrents which fall into it on either side, 



{ 603 ) 

and partly by springs at the bottom ; its water is remarkably 
clear and pleasant, and is imagined by the natives to be me- 
dicinal : it is said to be in some parts of the almost incredi- 
ble depth of one hundred and forty fathoms. 



.-Ov-. 



THE HOUSE IN WHICH ROBERT BURNS 
WAS BORN 

This cottage is situated at a short distance from Ayr, 
near to Kirk Alloway, and has nothing remarkable to re- 
commend it, unless considered of consequence, on account of 
its being the birth-place of such an eminent poet. 

The house was built by WiUiam Burness, the father of 
Robert, shortly after whose birth, one end of it fell down, 
which occasioned an alarm, easier conceived than described. 
This house consisted of a kitci>en at one extremity, and at 
the other was a room, dignified with the luxury of a' fire- 
place and chimney ; things not usual, at that time, in the 
cottages of the peasantry of Scotland. William Burness 
also constructed, in the kitchen, a concealed bed, with a small 
closet at the end, of the same materials with the house, and 
being altogether cast over both outside and inside with mor- 
tar, it had a neat and comfortable appearance. 

The person who occupies it at present has turned it into a 
snug public-house ; at this house, yearly, on the birth-day 
of Burns, a social party meet, and celebrate it with festivity 
and rejoicing ; vScarcely a traveller passes who does not there 
pay a tribute to the memory of the poet ; and the possessor 
has contrived that none shall pass without knowing who once 
inhabited it, by placing the following inscription near the 
door: — 

' Halt, passenger, and read : 
This is the humble cottage, that gave birth to the celebrated poet, 

ROBERT burns: 



( 604 ) 



MAUSOLEUM OF BURNS, 

AT DUMFRIES. 



This elegant and classical Monument is now nearly 
finished, and can scarcely be surpassed by any sepulchral 
erection. The interior is adorned by ornaments in alto 
relievo, and represents the apotheosis of the deceased bard. 
The genius of Scotland finds Burns, as the prophetic bard 
Elijah found Elisha, at the plough, and is throwing his in- 
spiring mantle over him. The foundation stone was laid on 
the 5th of June, 1815, with due masonic formalities ; and 
the building has been carried forward with a spirit highly 
honourable to the age and country. 



( 605 ) 

ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

BY MR. ROSCOE, 



KeAR high thy bleak majestic hills, 

1'hy sheltered valleys proudly spread ; 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red : 
But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. 
Since he the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow. 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gaily cliarm thy feathery throng ; 
But now, unheeded is thy song, 

And dull and lifeless all around, 
For his wild harp lies all unstrung. 

And cold the hand that wak'd its sound. 

What though thy vigorous offspring rise, 

In arts and arms thy sons excel ; 
Tho'' beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 

And health in -every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell. 

In strains impassioned, fond and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee. 

With step-dame eye and frown severe 
His hapless youth why didst thou view r 

For all thy joys to him were dear, 
And all his vows to thee were due.: 



( 606 ) 

Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 
In opening youth^s delightful prime, 

Than when thy favouring ear he drew 
To listen to his chanted rhyme. 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
He heard with joy the tempest rise 

That wak'd him to sublimer thought ; 
And oft thy winding dells he sought, 

Where wild flowVs pour'd their lithe perfume; 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But, ah ! no fond maternal smile 

His unprotected youth enjoy 'd ; 
His limbs inur'd to early toil. 

His days with early hardships tried ; 
And more to mark the gloomy void, 

And bid him feel his misery, 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of immortality. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depressed, 

With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil, 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest. 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 

The powers of Fancy came along, 
And sooth'd his lengthened hours of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

Ah ! days of bliss, too swiftly fled, 

When vigorous Health from labour springs. 
And bland Contentment smooths the bed, 

And Sleep his ready opiate brings : 
And hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young Desire, 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 



( 607 ) 

Now spells of mightier power prepare, 

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
Let Flatfry spread her viewless snare, 

And Fame attract his vagrant glance ; 
Let sprightly Pleasure too advance, 

UnveiPd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone. 
Till lost in Love's delirious trance, 

He scorn the joys his youth has known. 

Let Friendship pour her brightest blaze, 

Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
And Mirth concentre all her rays. 

And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfined, 
And Confidence that spurns control 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind : 

And lead his steps those bowers among, 

Where elegance with splendour vies. 
Or Science bids her favoured throng 

To more refined sensations rise : 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polish'd life. 

Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight. 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy. 

And shroud this scene in shades of night ; 
x\nd let Despair, with wizard light. 

Disclose the yawning gulph below. 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her specter'd ills and shapes of woe. 

And shew beneath a cheerless shed, 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eye. 

In silent grief where droops her head, 
The partner of his early joys ; 
4 I 



( 608 ) 

And let his infant's tender cries 
His fond parental succour claim. 

And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

'Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 

His high reluctant spirit bends, 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 

Nor longer with his fate contends. 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the poet's ardent eyes. 

— Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread ; 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red. 
But never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy height, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain 



( 609 ) 

A MONODY 
OAT THE DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS 

WRITTEN BY S. KEMBLE, ESQ. 

For two Voices. — Tune, Gaffer Gra^, 



Ah ! what is there ill news, speak old 

Robin Gray, 
That thy blue bonnet's pluck'd o'er thy brow ? 

O ! sad news I've read, 

Robie Burns, man, is dead, 
And the ploughman weeps over his plough, 

Well, a well a day, 
And the ploughman weeps over his plough. 

Is he gone then for aye, and for aye, 

Robin Gray ? 
No more shall we list to his sons ? 

No, cold as a clod, 

Beneath a green sod, 
Poor Robin they've lain all along. 

Well, a well a day. 
Poor Robin they've lain all alonsr. 

Adieu then, the forest and hill, 

Robin Gray, 
And farewell the valleys and grove • 

Why the forest and hill, 

And the valleys ring still. 
Still echo his ditties of love, 

Well, a well a day. 
Still echo his ditties of love. 



( 610 ) 

The sad sound of echo I'll shun, 

Robin Gray, 
Its dying notes live on my mind : 

Can you then, as you roam 

From your forefathers' home, 
Leave your forefathers' feelings behind, 

Well, a well a day. 
Leave your forefathers' feelings behind. 

Still the blackbird will sing on the thorn, 

Robin Gray, 
And the lark early carol on high. 

But the lowly lodg'd swain, 

As he scatters the grain. 
Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh. 

Well, a well a day. 
Will chaunt Robin's verse with a sigh. 

Softly lie on his bosom the turf, 

Robin Gray, 
Rest his ashes unmingled and pure ; 

May the tomb of his urn 

Caledonia adorn. 
And his much-lov'd remains so secure, 

Well, a well a day. 
And his much-lov'd remains so secure. 



FINIS. 



MACKENZIE AND DENT, PRINTEES, 
NEWCASTLE. 



^ ^5 1 85 If 











.' .■•^•. %/ •^^■. '--/ -^fe': '' 
















\ 












'V 








, . ^ ^ * J^ ^ ^ \ ^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc 

* * ,0 "^^ ° * * <X o " o <J> Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

•^bt^ T''^^^^'* PreservationTechnologi 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVAl 
111 Thomson Park Drive 
< Cranberry Township, PA 16066 

' O ' * ^ '' ^9' ^^ ' • >>- ^ (724) 779-2111 





5 °* •-• 












C ^'vTT* ,0 






^^ 






tot', -n^^ ^ ^ .*,i^^ • ^^ A"i* ''"^flt' \> . ^ *jm 



\/ 



<.-*o* 






-^-^ ■ • a\' ... "C^. 



. ^o 



.<5^^ 











HECKMAN 

fi"^0£ftY INC. 

^ 1985 

^^ N. MANCHESTER / ' " *» * A^ 
'ND(ANA4fiQ^ • ' ** 




%''* 

0*.. 



«• 



.^'^ 






1" ■ s M <r^». 




